When that passing-by, retractable roof decides to protect our lovely basin once again from the seven stars above, the color of the sky turns into something a little brown.
But with some purple to it,
don’t you think?
It’s too bland and too basic, very
‘Show’s over, folks, grab the tarp from that end over there and will pull it over them together,’
to be something suspect to grey.
It’s purple Brown, with
covering our night sky and all those seven little stars,
under lit by the amber brilliance of those ever glowing, One 34 in the morning
One 34 in the morning and all two-hundred 23,
Eight hundred and 6
high-rise towers in Los Angeles,
and that includes the ones that just light up at night to convince you people are working in them.
There’s also any of the following awake at night and driving (‘We’re thinking Blade Runner, baby’):
one hundred and twenty-three thousand, 669 motorcycles and one million, 68 thousand, 213 commercial vehicles (‘Bjork probably eats this shit up!’).
That’s a lot of light.
Varied light, too.
Although there’s been no word from Bird.
the purple lanterns lighting that one bit up on Riverside.
All of it.
combination of the charcoal particle, the
smog, the fog, all those cigarettes – the exhaust of cars, factory fumes, the coughed out black of 2-stroke lawnmowers illegal in California (I think) that turn neighborhood soundscapes into ongoing vamps of cystic sacs popping, the tar pus of them all blasting with expelled squalls of toxic gas out these hyper-active metallic sphincters of robot moose,
And the fires…
(Remember that photo of the horsies on the sands of Malibu looking towards a blazing horizon, camels too, like Jesus Christ)
And then it all blends in with the clouds? The lot of it all, you know, just all of it combined, the pollutions,
the light of it all,
With the fumes and …the clouds.
Clouds of which –
Which I suppose we, hm. I see.
‘What you could say. ‘Is.’’
Well I suppose we could, we
I suppose we could say that the clouds in this instance are something suspect to grey.
The lid could have some grey to it. Fine.
By which case, in addition to another observation made moments ago, I stand corrected and renowned. ‘Renewed.’ proudly.
The error here for real, is that the sky is sometimes just the cloud. Sure.
You know. ‘It’s just a cloud sometimes,’
Here comes a single star.
Could always be a drone, who knows.
And ah! There’s Jupiter. Could be, at least I’ll open up my app in just a beat. Looks big from where I’m sitting, there goes the cloud and here comes the sky. The sky,
Looking like a little indigo.
but with some green to it,
don’t you think? Huh!