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Funk 49

You write in your passionate dark coziness this pale pink corner for all the lost Hollywood dreams...? Blame it on the baggage in that little suitcase you carry in your heart to those sloppy cheap motels. Some can keep the clothes folded. Some cannot. You write. You become the towering redwood reaching for a blond Marilyn sun....Threads amass into one giant trunk of Sunset Gun. Twitter branches and flicker pages and links to your homemade movies are your expanse of branches. Look at me! I am my own movie. F-you, World. You reach to be taller. A day will come when you can't bear the weight of your beauty. We hunger what comes through the camera lens. We forget it is merely a lens.

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