Blades cut the night
as the mechanical
sky bird tilts
to the earth curve -
a shimmering sea-bed
of phosphorescence
lost in the land at night;
slipped stars seek homes
beneath freeway flyovers.
They cower there, cold, lost,
never to return to that distant cosmos.
Fissures and conduits
arteries and veins
turnpikes and tar pits
canyons and cracks
all scar the face of
a silent Saturday
movie matinee
idol in repose.
She’s laid bare for you
her folds and lines
pulsing audibly
as she draws a dying breath.
of a broken heart
stoically metronomic
within this chaos
that stretches from
down to Marina del Rey,
across to the scrub-lands
and no-go warrens of
And down the wires a voice crackles
one more gasp for the collective death rattle
silently stalking all, an unblinking eye
adrift and isolated in a red velvet sky.
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