It's December in this desert
and I am stalking the cold. Last
night I saw a man in a Santa
hat walking out of the parking lot
and into the sunset over Los
Angeles. Where are you going
and where did you go, Santa
man? What presents are you
bringing? Rhinoplasty for Ms.
Martinez, liposuction for Mr.
Braun, a Bentley whose interior
is cocaine-white for the Jacksons.
It's December in this desert
and I'm so far from the dim
dark woods I love so well and
the rocky shores that smell
of salt. Where are you going,
Santa man? Can I come, too?
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