California hills

there is a certain peace 

in the California hills.

a beauty, a quiet,

a silent despair

that is really quite

lovely.

the fewer people that

are there,

the better it is.

the wind hums against

the rocks and the air is 

fresh.

the Santa Ana winds pick up

and nearly knock you down,

but it will bring clean air,

pushing the smog out over

the mountains and away for a day

until the smoke from factories and tailpipes

and China come back with vengeance.

down certain trails, you can see

people fucking, dicks hanging,

pussies spread.

sometimes dicks with other dicks

and pussies with other pussies.

it is a sight to see -

these people fucking like mad -

like it is the last day to fuck or be fucked

and their hips are furious.

every stroke is planned, arranged,

and deliberate.

it is fine to see them fucking in the hills

where every corner,

every bush,

every mound of dirt can watch you there,

tapping out that ancient tune.

today is a fine day,

a lovely day. the Santa Ana winds are blowing

in from Fontana where it is always windy

and the sun will be up soon.

it would be a lovely day to bring the wife

to Corona, up in the hills

for a nice, long walk where we can hide

behind a boulder and hum a tune

to the winds that occupy the valley below.

we could sing a song to old lovers

and salute them as they pull up their pants

and pretend they were only going for

a walk.