Ice ship flotilla
Over nosecold L.A.
November L.A.
Giant silent icebergs
In the lee of the storm
747 attendants
in the distance over LAX
stewardesses with cold calves
walking to and fro
on the levitated decks
walking over wet L.A.

The twinkling lit wet jets
Stacked up in the pattern
You can see them from the 405
Stars waiting to land
Grow slowly to huge apocalypse machines
Thunderous multi-maw, warping space
Roaring overhead on the 405
Over the 405 and touchdown

Twinkling in the clouds
Snowmen in a line
Quiet icebergs aprés-storm
Combers, the hills of LAX
The air swept clean
Nosecold in November
November in L.A.

The powerlines twang and careen
Water droplets shake from the palm trees
Glorious clouds flow above the telephone wire
Space-clouds white blow milk blue in the moon

Cold drops trickle off the palms
In the dark of Van Nuys Blvd.
Filled at all times with cars
Always on unknown errands

Nightfilled alleys and puddles
Hotdog after midnight
Scared in the blue-black alleys
But even the hoods are home in bed

Scaled back over the blackly blue
Crimes of sodium vapor
Cold clipped metal smooth
Sharp metal for climbing criminals

Nightdog warm in the alley bag
Mustard & bun in my Floor 3 apartment