A city landscape painting punctured my eyes:
cars flying, neon lights spreading across the
city like bruises. Yellow bound skyscrapers form
golden teeth for this mouth of a city—

a city—a melting ***

—where everything waits

to inhales air from midnight whispers, asks the stars
to fall tonight for people waiting for pixie

dusts to land on their palms. And tonight,

the city will grant that miracle. Tonight,

the stars will fall, and all
will be neon bruises

spreading across a limp body
of a city.