East of the city,
there are tall pines standing
scant and sentry, as if they knew
this were the road to the ocean.
Amid dandelioned lawns
and asphalt wasteland, gas
is cheaper, repair shops
like mushrooms:
frequent and lightly
unsavory. On Sundays
at the carwash,
every concrete cave
is full, as though
we could siphon
off the week’s sins
with high-suction
hoses; April
has always been
a month for pollen
and repentance.
Joanna Suzanne Lee 
Oh…this is just a brilliant write IMHO.
thank you most humbly, sir. *curtsies nicely*
ha. pollen and repentence…as if the car wash could cleanse us…
nice.
wouldn’t it be nice if it could, tho? *smiles*
I retweeted this and called you a treasure. Not hyperbole. Love you and your mighty pen and gorgeous brain, Mosk
you floor me, Mosk. truly. thank you. means much to me.
turns my mind to rural California…..ahhh, I miss the redwoods
Another lovely piece. I loved the repair shops and carwashes. I can see them so clearly and your twist on them is inspired. Thanks!
That be great writing.
hey, i need your digits…got a new phone and just realized i dont have your number…
plan on seeing you tomorrow…