This poem is so stereotypical Los Angeles :). Not my LA, which is all about spiritual growth (and that is a big community here), but the LA of shallow pleasures, you know?
He just can’ t get past
the shallow end of the gene pool –
his thoughts are skipping stones,
bouncing off a surface as smooth as glass.
Any conclusions which need to be drawn
are best left to the artists;
he is too occupied
in swallowing his own press
to go off the deep end.