On a rooftop in Los Feliz, at first,
colored lights in all directions, all the
city-sanctioned explosions going off
downtown blocked out by buildings; lingering
smoke, and the occasional daredevil
helicopter, be it police or news,
either way searching out the unlawful
displays, either way too close to the ground,
skirting the ceaseless show in East LA,
unbroken on the horizon, echoed
in Hollywood, Silverlake, Echo Park;
and after, on the highway, driving home,
a more personal effect, near constant
congratulation, frantic light tunnel.

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