Air

I'm In the air now. Echo Park is something distant and so is memory. LA is truly vast and difficult to understand. The grid of buildings and swimming pools goes beyond the farthest corner of sight, the window segregates me. The Earth glows gold with sand and scorched moss. These red engines delight the pulse of the metal carriage and I feel like being in love. The sky looks like an accident, clear and beautiful, with tiny awkward clouds. The patchwork of the earth is simple and obvious, as if we were to close to understand. The sewing machine wasn't meant to die. Absolving the presence of these communities rills a smile and boasts ever tempting joy. My brain relics with the twist of waterways below. Things don't seem so bad from up here. Maybe this plane crash lands?