California
We roared down Santa Monica
Boulevard at dawn on your motorcycle,
both of us sleepy and half-stoned from
the party we crashed.
I tipped my head back to feel the silky
wind against my neck as
palm trees illuminated against the
golden sunrise sky
waved in gentle benediction.
I'm all of twenty years old,
and laughing into the wind that morning,
I am the king of the world.
-Frank H. Weeden
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