Some lights on streets

Some lights on streets out of all in Los Angeles are mist that lights wets through the constant light of night. So second strata stars these are that sit hazy yellow against purpling unreachable night. Against shapes to shadow on the ground, on concrete under trash, on dusted tree leaves in medians of stranded sunlight, on hands on hands through car windows in streets off streets in businesslike neighborhoods.

At second level windows hanging in the volume of the vaporous stars casting yellow through matted screens against many painted tenant walls. And walls reflections hold the night as captive to be read as stains when the sun silver soon rises.

When beacons to brilliant ground bleed from florescence into burning singular calling and wanting to stand erect in clarity until dawn. There are sometimes days of the year after storms when streets and lots slick with standing sheen turn the night upside down and I walk fixed to the sky. When morning breaks, Los Angeles collapses past my feet and rebuilds itself of silver wet with stuck shut morning and open windows.

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