“I See Glimpses of LA” and Other Works by M. Tulin

Mark Tulin is a former psychotherapist who lives in California. He has a Pushcart Prize nomination called “A Mountain Spirit” in Active Muse and authored Magical Yogis, Awkward Grace, The Asthmatic Kid and Other Stories, and Junkyard Souls. He appears in many publications. His website is https://www.crowonthewire.com.

Artwork by Co-founder Michael R. Pitter

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I See Glimpses of LA

Los Angeles of my senses,
big, sprawling
iconic images,
an energy that’s contagious,
a spirit inside of Grauman’s
and the affluence
on Rodeo Drive

Movers and shakers,
deals made at Spago’s,
and fashionistas in eclectic styles,
along the catwalks at the Groves

I see LA in glimpses,
sensual whispers,
tasting her salty tongue
The sandy texture
and her naked snapshots
on the red carpet
of her Oscar vogue

I am blinded by
her billboards,
her sports cars of desire,
the myths and legends
of Melrose and the freaks
on Sunset Boulevard

I am mesmerized by Bogie and Bacall,
the allure of Tracy and Hepburn
and where the true story of Charles Manson
is sadly told

I chase her wild bikini
up the winding roads
of Beverly Hills,
adore her from afar
like a voyeur on a tourist bus,
a spoiled little rich kid
in Westwood,
and the mistress of a sugar daddy
who’s had too much champagne

While Batman woos Wonder Woman
on the walk of fame,
Jim Morrison
unzips his leather pants
at the Whiskey a Go Go
and the rich and famous
dine on Picasso
and yellowfin tuna
under a smoggy, Rodin moon.

The Aide

I push my client
to the dollar store,
change the bandage
that covers her open sore
I cook her microwave meals
and clean the fish tank,
put her to bed at night,
and read her a book
before she falls asleep,
making sure her head is propped,
and her blistered feet are covered
so she won’t catch a chill

This I do to pay the rent
in my humble abode,
for a loaf of white bread
for my family to share,
a modest car I drive to work,
to help a disabled woman in need,
to cure the ills of those
that society has left behind,
to lend a helping hand
for a woman who would be lost,
and to make my days go by
with a clear state of mind.

Where Dreams Grow

I should be grateful
I have a place to go each day
It’s an office where I work
with a cup of coffee at my desk,
and a swivel chair where I sit
for hours in front of a screen,
while my mind drifts and races
to strange and romantic destinations
I go to foreign lands on my break
and make sure the blinds are closed
I sail where dreams grow like flowers

I wish I had the courage
to follow the path of most resistance,
to acknowledge my intuition,
to spend days enjoying my time
without the need for a stimulant
or a 9 to 5 job to keep me in check
I wish I could change
the course of my direction.

Between

Half in this earth, half in the hereafter,
one foot out, the other in
I’m caught between two planes,
life and death,
connection and disconnect
The world that bores me,
and the other that doesn’t exist
The train that arrives,
and the one that leaves
for the hopeful station,
on the journey, I’ve never been.

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