City Terrace Field Manual Prose poems by Sesshu Foster Book Description . About the Author . Excerpt . Reviews . Events . Buy Books Now
	In Mediterranean L.A. there's a fresh sea breeze, the Spanish oaks don't hide the young woman's corpse, raped and strangled, you'll never see those eyes which in life would have bruised your heart, sands of the Sahara blow down Vermont, take a left on Pico through Little San Salvador, shifts in timeless winds reveal the fifteen-year-old boy shot twice through the back by sheriff's deputies as he ran from the stolen vehicle, you fucked up, in Siberian L.A. taiga obscures the horizon, who knows where you may end up, dark clouds blow sleet and sheets of rain down Alameda, the train station disappears in the blizzard, Olvera Street with icicles, five below zero at Siquieros' América Tropical, the crucified Indian is pecked by the gringo eagle, burnt out on Turkish L.A., you cough where homeless children play along immense adobe walls in sandals and huaraches the sirens Thai L.A. the victims the seamstresses and garment workers returning the sun like a cracked egg Scottish L.A. bones, twine, tufts of hair