Back on the backseat
head on the window,
eyes on the withering firework hues—
reds and blues sinking into the growing distance.
Even then, so sad for the great thing,
that gasping boom.
The climax of living, of experience,
of me and us in time,
is a subtle peak on a bell curve:
not yet longing and no longer wanting,
but a dying explosion we pass through
like a ride home in the night.
– Los Angeles, CA