Of the Smoggy Valley—mountains, desert, ocean— whichever climate you like within an hour.
Of the sacred gray arteries—bloody asphalt— broken glass shimmering in the shoulders—jaw-dropping overpass knots.
Of the train that no longer whistles the graveyard where railroad men rest— the abandoned Catholic hospital where railroad men were born
Of gunshots in the night—the green and black—the godly ghetto birds— NightSun—criminals who cannot hide.
Of skinny backyard coyotes—un-collared dogs left to roam the neighborhood—the scarred faces of little children mauled on their way to school making the national news.
Of the withering Empire of “these gangs came from LA” of “we’re number 1 again!— most dangerous city in the US.”
Of everybody’s got to proud of something.
Of heavy lungs Of visible heat Of prostitutes who stroll anyway— immigrant tweens who twist their ankles spiked heels stuck in the melted asphalt.
Of “this way to Vegas” Of “this way to the baptismal sea”
I am an essayist and poet. My work has been rejected by some of the finest journals in America. Fortunately, it also gets accepted from time to time and has appeared in equally fine journals such as Word Riot, Inlandia, Brew City Magazine, and SageWoman, among others.. In 2002, I won the Academy of American Poets Prize for Vanderbilt University.
For no good reason, I possess an unnecessarily dark humor which is why being third generation California Inland Empirian delights me so. My gods are weird. I once won $350 for writing a smartassed essay on “why the wise use of water is important in my daily life”. I am undoubtedly the Greek god Hermes’ special snowflake. I’m pretty sure I got into college via a series of fortuitous clerical errors.
When I had to grow up and get a real job, I decided against it and stayed a writer. I have worked many odd—and I mean odd—jobs to support my habit: PR writer for country music hopefuls, resume massager, WalMart fitting room attendant and switchboard operator, and telephone psychic, just to name a few.
I am also albino. That's why my psychic gifts are so strong. I traded in my pigment for magical foresight, because that's how it works. It gets all technical. Trust me. That's totally how it works.
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M. N. Ashley 