Melissa Hansen lives in San Francisco where she writes stories and
poetry that enjoy lying in swollen notebooks while hiding in dark
drawers. She is a civil servant in debt bondage, studies Library Information
Technology, and lies around imagining things.
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©
2007 Melissa
Hansen
Driving Home
The sadness of this sun
hot, blazing, my skin emitting sweet and toxins
A day in LA, a mile away
my once home
A controlled pleasure
severed
I am kissing blistered lips
my heart torn, fractured and free
beating with blood
I become calm, I am not clean
Driving home
a mile away
from a day in LA
my once home
I eat a burger, I drink coffee
alone
men stare at me
I smell of pussy and the stale booze
that battle to suffocate and reign
over your real, ancient smell
the trucks move slowly up the 5
a hundred times we have passed each other
back and forth to LA
my once home
so hot like it's going to explode beneath the sadness of the sun
It is bound in smog and aspirations
in cars and closed bars
in lack of alleys and housewives going for walks
a beauty that sinks and grows
a dry heat that explodes
you become a magnet and a phantom
a blurry vision in the fog
I am home
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