East of Eden (24 Hours)

In the City of Angels
the poverty goes on for miles.
The city is the shadow of itself.
There must in Hell
be also a City of Angels.

 The blueprint here
is not just of anyone's town.
Boundaries are drawn
by power or boredom in sand.
Wind blows what is left
of a land that was once a dream.

 Buds bloom at the curb by the sidewalks,
tough desert plants
that require little water,
little care.
Palm trees are spare.
Where we walk lies a son or a daughter.

 There is hunger, fear
outside of the house after ten.
Darkness within
is near 
as the next breath sucked in.
Hearts pump adrenalin.

Sun shines through fog.
Derricks and fences determine
that no dogs run
in packs 
or alone on the street.

 Not many birds,
not even the track of a cat.
It's a morning that
shows a man headfirst in a dumpster.
Legs hang in air
and wave
like the legs of a tortoise.