The heights' sprite lathering lights, wuthering
are quite beautiful this night...

New years' snow : glitter and streamers.
The Strip, a libidinous concrete highway
thick with the tar of dark secret deeds
manhicular silences seeping between the loud
sidewalks, rivers of crowds bleeding into buildings
monuments of fantasy-loss-reaping.

But the sprite lathering lights wuthering in the heights
are beautiful these coldest of nights

Artificial pulsing of Sierra's fiber-optic heart,
desert of dessert trays for hoarders gorging dust.
America turning cold emoji faces: high front gusts
un-empathy a mask for the races
like blank lakes of lack, like Paris
we're still running from them -- fastest of rats...

The city of lights lathering in wondering
is still a beautiful place at nights, wuthering

Yet sin city structures glamour machines by
lustful feeding hands that slight...
decay as quick as worship
like a slow freezing blight,
eyes kept blind in white
renaissance of our modern day *****
a loveless January night...

Hell is not hot fire & brimstones  - it's winter,
souls fall aside if hearts die without
(stars of Orion's center)

I'm just another lion
raging against the splinter...


But the bright lights in the sky,
spritely gathering in the wuthering storms
are all so beautiful at night
on new years' eve, they pause the war...

while every child makes a dying wish
on star light star bright :
a home far from winter
for the king's love not to splinter...