among the characters: los angeles

i haven't gotten to the children yet
but if feels as if i've been
hearing them for days. there
are so many pictures left to draw.
there are so many pictures left and
each time i draw one i mouth words from
thousands and thousands of year ago.
does that make me as smart as them?
the ones who were smart enough
to invent war.
i've written so many women but
the woman (and the man) have already
written me. because for all the smiling i do,
the mumbling, the hands in my pockets,
all i have is faulty medicine
and faulty building blocks to match.
black fields, black mouths, black strokes tonight.
i need to draw but all i can do is write.