Love has room to grow in the hills of Benedict Canyon

My green typewriter light is on

and two months’ time between me and my last man

No double murder plots looming over neighbors’ vacant lots

that i look upon at twilight, still light enough for the

Starline bus to be carrying on. I listen to the hippie

spouting nonsense at the foot of Bella Drive

hammering on about Sharon and the sanctity of life

I listen on intently

thanks for the free ride

and for reminding me that everything comes down to a story

and to laugh when you could cry.

But finally I have no reason for tears

not tonight at 7:27

first time in months i feel close to heaven

in the hills of Benedict Canyon

the background hum of the television

love has room to grow.

No more secrets no more reasons to put off what I already know

No more big projects

no new dev breaking ground on Sunset

no big builds lasting too long up on Mulholland

no joint ventures fracturing.

no unchained melodies enchanting the bars in my head.

No. Just no news, nothing going on at 7:27

not quite ready for dinner

just the background hum of television

Me- standing out on the deck

wondering what phase of twilight the sky is in

and contemplating how the Dodgers are doing

and reaching for the phone

to call an old friend.

You’re only as happy as your least happy child

happy