The most beautiful hour in L.A. is 3 A.M., when, petals of lavender peep through wooden blinds, lulling restless minds laid on Egyptian Cotton candy clouds amuse me. Because as I close my eyes, I realize, that here, there is no starry night because this beautiful haze is light pollution.
But pollutions' hue calms a city mind. Like sirens quell eager ears, And liquor tickles tantalized tongues, And words flow from numb knuckles, And insomnia wets drying eyes, I, am struck, that this lavender haze helps me see that too much is always what I need.