People are moving to L.A.
in their Volkswagens
in their cargo pants
dreaming of being an actor
dreaming of being a writer
dreaming of being a waiter
until the lights turn on.
I can see the exhaust of their cars
filtering up off of the deserts
in Nevada.
I can see their odd smiles
reflecting in the rear view mirrors.
I suppose we all have a little twinge
of ambition.
I suppose we all are like Turner
ready to be strapped to the bow of a ship
and feel the waves
to get the sense
and the timing
of our own nature.
