|Moon and cactus, reflected|
So I prophesied as I was commanded: and as I prophesied, there was a noise, and behold a shaking, and the bones came together, bone to his bone.--from the Book of Ezekiel, Chapter 37
There's a man walking La Brea Blvd. who might as well be an Old Testament prophet. His skin is rough and dirty, his hair is crusted over, his pants tied with a rough rope. His toes poke through what look like leather slippers, and he's looking upward, his mouth agape. Also, there's a purple-haired black woman with a Christmas lit halo walking behind him, her eyes on his back. She might as well be an angel. I'm gripping the steering wheel with my hands, tipped with jagged nails and sprinkled with age spots, an old scar from a fifty year old dog bite a divot on the top of the right one. I might as well keep going, Driving, that is.
so saith the Lord