Los Angeles at Night

by Henry Woram | 5/3/17 2:40am

Romulus pours molten incandescence down

a concrete overpass &

it slithers across ribbons of asphalt,

chasing brakelights.

(those swollen ruby demon’s eyes)

yellow specks of light begin

to shine in bright jack-o-lantern grins

while you

navigate the folds of her silken streets.

your mouth’s dry

cause the desert’s nearby &

you’re thirsty.

everybody wants to swim

in hips of rosebud

(but the waves crash in cursive)

she discarded two palmtree stalks

like a pair of stilettos &

ran naked into Neptune’s inkstained arms.

so you climb a hill

to pick sour grapes &

drink silver streams of moonlight.