American Alcoholism — KG Newman

The sun burning off L.A.’s morning haze

is not unlike what I go through too,

concentrated marijuana removing

liquor splinters from my mind.

And yet still the city goes on polluting

each day anyways—no one carpooling

and all the Starbucks which did away

with plastic straws boycotted out of business,

whatever’s necessary to maintain a lifestyle

even if it does lead to a quake along

the fault line, at the exact wrong time,

our midnight drunk and highs wasted

as the luxury apartments tumble into

the mouth of the widest fifth we’d want.