I am closing my door on Los Angeles, this city of my dreams.
It is not it's light, that of ghetto fires and diamonds
stolen from African mines,  but rather,  my light
I now withhold from this place of darkness.

Los Angeles, once a potpourri of spices and sweets,
now a cauldron brewing with bitter herbs.

Angelenos content in their own ignorance,
beaming and beautiful,
arrayed in the full costume of indifference.
Snug in what they perceive their security.

Naturally there are exceptions, few and far in between but,
eventually even they succumb to either the ooze of pride
or the slime of scorn; one just as gummy as the other.

Quickly, I must make haste.
Even now, I feel the stickiness encompassing beneath my sole.