Tacomatose

Rainier looks down its nose,      
at the urban sprawl      
& recoils at the murderous intent      
of the beings        
in its shadow.      
       
A tweaker killed a Sgt First Class      
who tried to stop a        
woman from catching      
a beating.      
       
To live through the war      
only to die by a knife      
wielded by some punk,      
oh the irony.      
       
This not three miles,        
from my house      
rented from Paris Hilton's      
Dad.      
       
He would never live there,      
a little too Bourgeoisie,      
& the blood is not blue        
enough.        
       
I tried to drive        
to the Mountain,      
in hopes of breathing      
purer air.      
       
But the human pall cast gray        
blankets of regret      
over brilliant emerald      
hued trees.      
       
My soul yelped in envy,      
at the sight of rural estates      
pristine in their      
solitude.      
       
They mocked my bondage,      
to the lowest endeavors,      
& attempts at culture      
and zen.      
       
I turned around      
before I got to      
the hill.      
       
Each return stoplight        
was like a kick in the teeth,      
soundtracked by        
loud car stereos.      
       
And dirty homicidal looks      
from wannabe gangsters,      
either too fucking lazy to        
make the trip to L.A.,    
or on the run    
from their Parole Officers.    
       
So now starts the drone      
the buzz and whine,      
to drown out the        
snickering hiss      
of disillusionment.      
       
Keep up appearance,      
keep up the show,      
twist in the wind,      
the mountain sees all,      
there is nowhere to hide,      
the sanctuary turns to prison,      
& even the wonder,      
of frost on pine needles,      
can't move me to tears      
usually shed in tribute,      
& worshipful wonder.      
       
*RIP SFC Shawn A. Woods, killed in Puyallup, WA 1/20/2014.