Cherry smoke light in the graffiti lot, 

gliding like diamonds down Rain Hill & still, 

we stay sweet in the dark. 

Brothers of the broken bottle make amends in the melt of the final old chrysanthemum porch light.

"Lead us in the closing prayer" on the speakers 

of the passing chiffon colored van 

with the terrible muffler,

reminding them 

of the street

 they pulled from

 & a sea of chrome wasn't enough

 to fade to bulletproof 

over the arm of neon falls, 

but they still drank & laughed & sang & cried & fell asleep 

with each other 

like lump crabmeat 

as the dawn 

punched in over the panda trees. 

Clem Flowers (They/ Them) is a soft spoken southern transplant living in spitting distance of some mountains in Utah. Maker of a fine omelet, but scrambled egg game needs some fine tuning. Nb & bi, they live in a cozy apartment with their wonderful wife & sweet calico kitty. They can be found on Twitter at @hand_springs777