They come to the desert to empty themselves
of those painful dreams that
That press themselves into the base of their skulls
leaving an indentation that will never be reversed.
So in the Mojave they tether them to Joshua trees
and move on to their final destination.
They move themselves into freshly built palaces
where they pay by the floor.
They hang gilded mirrors to display reflections
they can’t bear to confront.
They just don’t look the same with concave hearts.
They remember a time they would say,
‘Look at what I’ve made!’
But craft has abandoned them as well,
so it’s just, ‘Look what I’ve bought!’
A phrase with most certain comfort
because the precious city
at the base of culture
and the end of the civilized world
bought us all.
Once we filled ourselves with pesky dreams and packed our bags
in search of freedom’s open arms.
Now little girls sent to the cutting room floor
with some cocaine and a bit role.
I want to be an actress, but right now I am
and I’m beginning to think I
Almost no one here can express satisfaction
without seeming just a little foolish.
But it will be something
when the procession of luxury class vehicles passes
on their way to the funeral somewhere else.
Christina Lengyel is a writer of fiction and poetry. With a focus on language and consciousness, she has come to accept that often very little happens in her happenings. She completed her MFA at the University of Baltimore and spends her time teaching college composition, practicing yoga, and hanging out with her husband, children, and friends.