the silicon desert

sweeping silicon sagebrush miles
with T.V. lights in the tall cactii,
radio songs in the dry blue sky
where someday will soar
still steel titans
of another L.A.,
workers like thinking ants
punching the clock
for another day...
in some distant day

for now it's just rabbits,
crows, snakes,
and the occasional coyote
the new king of animallia
in the long age of the human juggernaut...
similar to the prosperous trash foxes
of dapper London

Littered by the side
of the lonely highway
are beer cans, soda bottles,
copies of The New Yorker,
The Rolling Stone,
dead presidents,
cigarette cartons
and porn magazines
of evil complexion,
also slightly yellowed newspapers
which are good to burn
in my poets' hut
when nights get cold,
and silicon nights get very cold
spirit and joints aching
though I'm not yet old