Stories from L.A.

        The Poetry Page


All roads lead somewhere
if you take them there
through deserts, past scrub brush
with leathery leaves that will not weep,
along cliffs overlooking waves
pounding a rocky shore,
through dense forest
where poison ivy vines
up trunks toward sunlight,
through grey warehouse districts
where bonfire flames cast shadows
over cardboard box houses.
Yesterday stretches back,
a winding road of memory
and even wrong turns
brought you here.