LA SNL by Robin Wyatt Dunn

And Jehovah jumped, his long ocean in his mind meeting the small ocean of the Los Angeles swimming pool, falling backward like Michael Douglas under the freeway overpass, every can of coke forever 50 cents, now and eternity, the wind rushes over his face and he accepts the inevitable glory of it, the inevitable change of wind, the movement and music of the world and its so many spheres, incomparably beautiful, mute to the ears of Man―

In this night is the death of tragedy, for there will be no more goat songs, and in this night is the birth of The Police, not badged or armed and not vehicled or helicoptered but scarred, rammed into the new century of a yet longer night, their wise and careful faces merged into the sadness of empire, both collapsing and clawing itself back into life, wicked thoughts flicker through Jehovah of San Fernando’s brain as he backstrokes across the smooth clear water chlorinated and American,

Unknown forever―

Truer than midnight, truer than the sun―

Liquid ocean brother’s dream the man who is not quite god and not quite alive, revivifying entire this broad moment of an equation that we have only begun to grasp―

It’s Saturday Night, Live from Los Angeles!

God let me touch your cathode face.

© 2013 Robin Wyatt Dunn

Robin Wyatt Dunn lives in The Town of the Queen of the Angels, El Pueblo de la Reina de Los Angeles, in Echo Park.  He is 33 years old.  You can find him at www.robindunn.com

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