Cars shoot down the freeway,
projectile jewels in an opaque night
reflecting the sky, which
reflects the streetlamps, which
reflect the eyes of night wanderers
dripping out of laundromats
shaking with quarters and
stumbling out of nightclubs,
pulses throbbing with the beat of
music and the lasers of neon light.
Up and down the street they stand
standing in ladles of yellow streetlamplight,
searing the sky for the traces of star
that must be smuggled beneath the smog.