R o b i n W y a t t D u n n
M a r c h
Los Angeles is not immortal like its angels,
We cut off its limbs each day,
To see if it can be a starfish.
It grows back deranged, expansive and multi-colored,
Hungrily devouring the shore.
Like a Spartan, L.A. hungers for abuse,
Shouting partisan slogans as it roots in the hogan
For some tomatoes.
The triremes are being loaded at Long Beach.
We are invading Persia.
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