The angels weren’t watching you
that day in LA,
just faces afraid to stop.
A shape by the road,
haloed in freeway smog:
your planet stalled.
A burnt metal rim
where distance had ruled
a Crusoesque universe.
She should have packed wings
for when superpowers fail,
their glass eyes said.
Tail-lights stretched back
to where emptying skies
still spelt out redemption.
Night stirred like a ghost,
and far from the stars,
the green sign read Laurel Canyon.
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