Lost Angeles
Robyn Russell
I have been humbled
and preyed upon by this city that dwells within me
without me
cavorting on the thought of an Eden
that cannot be created
by a solitary wish, alone.
Here, of course, paradise is lost
and I am found
suffocating on the cement
that consumes
in the jungle of a concrete landscape.
Just beyond the neon
and the shimmering shadows
of the supermodels who catwalk
continually
through your mind
You, too, will find
tragedy resonating through these banal walls.
No one told me, when I arrived,
the sacred mantra of the vanity assembly:
Cross your legs
Close your mouth
Put down your fork
Cinch your waist
Count your flesh
And always smile, always smile.
Someone failed to tell me
not to show my skin
raw
but I read it in a magazine.
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