Four black glass silos store grains of white lights waterfalling six levels of balconies, outlining wired leaps of reindeer stags that arch the lobby pool fragrant with chlorine. Outside, elevators, black scarabs, crawl up the shiny walls above pale lassos of freeway lights. Someday when the freeways crack up, when the scarabs lie on their backs in bowels of cable, the silos, wind-turning dust devils round their bobbins, will house kite and hawk in their honeycombs. Lizards flickering edges of balconies will leave in the pool dry patterns of their vertebrae exquisite as carved ivory broken from a necklace. |