American Alcoholism — KG Newman
The sun burning off L.A.’s morning haze
is not unlike what I go through too,
concentrated marijuana removing
liquor splinters from my mind.
And yet still the city goes on polluting
each day anyways—no one carpooling
and all the Starbucks which did away
with plastic straws boycotted out of business,
whatever’s necessary to maintain a lifestyle
even if it does lead to a quake along
the fault line, at the exact wrong time,
our midnight drunk and highs wasted
as the luxury apartments tumble into
the mouth of the widest fifth we’d want.