How sad it is to journey to Santa Monica and I can’t find it.

The open blue sky hides behind canyon walls

I look for glimpses of the sun and the sea, but they are also hard to find.


Instead winds tempest through the canyon walls like clothing being torn from a corpse.

I wander the narrow sidewalks as cars move slowly by.

I look at the trees, leafless without sunlight and air — looking old in their age

Nature corrupted by greed


Instead, I’m lost in an ocean of development

The sun caresses then quickly disappears

Traffic comes instead.

I look for the city manager but he has also moved on


The day ends as a curtain of sunlight falls that both hides and reveals.

Feeling defeated, I stretch my legs and turn toward home — feeling lost as my city is lost

As I wander home — how funny I can’t find it — like Santa Monica it has also moved on


Ron Goldman

Santa Monica

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