California Sunday

I slept on the gym and awoke to the soda machine.
Staring at me like a blue and white sentinel.
I was so high the canvass becomes my bed.
I saw the rafters to the ceiling.
Floating above me like a wooden sky.
The ropes became my walls.
For the square of destruction was my quarter.
But just a snooze.
The Latino rap show was my alarm clock.
Sundays in LA are magic.
A Golden backdrop to the setting sun.
Sunday is a California day.
Ignored by the east.
Abused by the south.
Manipulated by the Midwest.
For the Golden states love the lords day.
We smoke, drink and do drive bys.
We wave at the sun and wink at her.
She is our ally
For the ball of gas is a groupie.
She loves Sean Penn too.
I asked the homeless man what time it was.
He said Domingo.
For the hazy, smog filled days belong to us.
We will fight you to the death
We have Arnold, Ramirez and Manson.
Pray God is a better prison guard then gardener.
For blasphemy is a tool of the faithful man.
For God loves a warrior.
He laughs at the politician.
I turned over on my right hand side.
I stared at Pacific Ave.
I thanked all the Gods Pagan and Catholic to forgive the east.
For they never slept in a ring on a Sunday night.
Using dreams as a pillows.