Southern Pacific, a child is reborn
Out of the tropical heat and depression
And moves to LA where he washes the dishes.
Christ! Have you tried to commute to your work
Riding a bus in the Golden State's traffic
With dozens of cripples? They're broke and they're reeking.
Finding the places where money's concealed
Takes tenths of days—a third spent asleep,
A third in the effort—a life as a robot.
Sometimes rebellion's inaction and talk:
Flickers of cigarette ash in the roadway,
A liquor store temple attracting the worship
Bacchus demands—there's a god who rejects
Progress and drinks to the bottom of barrels,
Negating the vineyard and engines of harvest.
Save if you care to sustain the machine,
Neon your path, all the lights give permission;
Your Porsche, Toyota, they're ready and racing
Selves and each other, erasing the miles,
Puffing a smoke of their own, they've exhausted
All patience and grind what remains in their axles.
"A man crossing a busy Los Angeles-area boulevard was twice struck by hit-and-run drivers, a woman who tried to help him was hit by yet another car, and the driver who tried to help her was beaten and robbed by a mob, police said Friday. "
—The Associated Press, 1 Hour ago, as of 1/21/2011 at 10:23pm.
http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5h39u5bGJyP7Ak-pXXCZLRUQwDqFw?docId=904e7e2f7ea44fdab40e14968cef698f
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