Two Men Fucking on a Raft in Echo Park Lake, 1998

Mexican wrestlers, Chain and the Gang, a bridge to a rock where a stork kills babies. Twenty-five cent homies, Thai basil and gopher hill. We live to disappear, garbage in the lake, bougainvillea sundaes with plastic cherries on top. Fashions of Echo, where the 2 meets the 5 and the 110 connects to the Hollywood Freeway. Downtown is prettiest when Santa Monica exhales. Cats roll down the hill, coyotes in the cul-de-sac, Elysian woodpeckers and tumbleweed snowmen. From the driveway, we see a shooting star on a full moon night. The fog rolls in, blanketing the city like a poisonous glowing gas in a zombie movie. The aliens landed decades ago; they live in the wheel wells of every car and dream of electrical storms.

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