125 Grand Ave.

So,

there is this uncertain quality in the air lately...

i'm trying to understand it as I wake up everyday//

don't know where it's going

don't know where it's coming from

the same form is the form of yesteryears

I was a kid when I moved to Long Beach

living off of canned tomato sauce and dry noodles,

Fiona Apple and Magnolia,

jazz biographies and expired phone cards.

I would ride all over the city

with my headphones strapped

holding my cd player as if it was a gun

to my side to my side to my side

holding the notes clenched to my ribs

sometimes a note that she would hit

would make me cry

as i pedaled down hills

the tears climbing down my face

i was not frantic back then

i was inspired

but calm

(i knew time would come)

And then the fires destroyed the land in '03

and the ash came out of the sky

covering us all as we walked outside

my bike

my bike

my arms

my ribs

turning into rust