Night clouds of thunder their 
Lightening forever lit and stalled and netted, 
Window frames of ember-ed gold –
Champagne cherries, lit cigarettes 
Tangled down by the smoking swaying 
Canopies of the hills, 
Looking down 
Towering over 
While us down here in the grid,
The shining rows of halogen and brake lights, neon too 
Somewhere in there that’s where the Pikey used to be – 
Down further
Nordstrom memorializes yesteryear Beverly Park with its Kiddie Land and laughs and screams,
Soon imported like just the other day 
Towards down the bend just past the beanery, 
Where pastels shine like moons
And swings are reserved for Mickey’s.
Stolichnaya’s closed for the night but the flour’s set to pour in and float with plumes within a couple hours, 
Before the birds squeal over territory,
Though after mic drops echoing of cheering crowds finally fade
And Jacarandas still sway with greeting for Spring,
Lilac into mauve into indigo at night, 
No matter the light up until dawn.