Ascending

The hulking, burnt out husks,

Of rusting semi trucks-

Sleep here in dead grass

The putrid, wafting smell,

Of bloated, hot soul-shells-

Caress cars from the road side

The lean frames and hungry eyes,

Of feral cats go slipping by-

Over oil stains and empty cans

Darkness settles in on us,

Inside our tiny mini bus-

We're on our way to meet a man

We check the ties on our wax wings,

We've heard its bright but worth the sting-

Inside the City of Angels