Untitled (cities)

i once went to the place where cities go to die, to get buried
it was at the end of a road
or maybe it was Off The End of the Road, a Side Road to the End Of The Road

it was disguised as the smallest junk yard in the world
tucked away in some forgotten place beyond Eastern El Cajon
but well before you reach The Mountains
or alpine, even, really
you know the kind of place i'm talking about- the kind of place you find Off A Side Road, that is A Side Road to the End Of The Road

A Mapless Place 
a pocket in the folds of reality

we went there for pallets to burn at the beach
we went in an empty pick up truck 
we had in mind to fill it

we drove in through chain link fence gate into an outdoor hoarders
only more organized you know
the man we bargained with was skinny thin old i think black
at least in my memory he is 
mellow black 
gold black
soft black

like if you take warm mexican brown and warm black you get that rich gold black
if black skin can be kissed by the sun that was him

while the others bargained and loaded palletes i found the city's dead
first heavy machinery
and gi-normous tires
then the parking stops the mini curbs from parking lots
with the rebar poking out of them like fractured bones
dappled in late afternoon sunlight

the sounds muffled in this small space
as i balanced on the discarded curb

the truck was filled 
sound came back as i stepped off the dead cement
got in and buckled

the old man closed the gate behind us, locking himself in. we had kept him from his super
(i think he was old)
we revved out of the dirt onto the pavement and into the sunset

a city cemetery is as quiet as a human one