we are not that modern

marble floors, ice sculptures, wide glass above a city, everything was in wonderful disarray. we will see each other the next time it snows in los angeles, i told her. each room spinning in different spheres, light cones, directions and i was located somewhere in my mind. there will come a time gigantic waves will crush the junk that i have seen, sparklehorse intoned in my head for months upon months. and now here, she purred something about loving me, which i found strange, the pretty girls don't come to this town to fall in love. i knew truth in some distinct region of reality, believed in the powers of physical proximity, breath touching, electrons intermingling. the dresses of the women spun, music turned louder and more relevant to the moment, everything became urgent, the tidal crescendo of cymbals and strings clashing and cutting into these wounds, this destitute collectivism, buoyed by something invisibly profound. i turned to her and our eyes must have been lit aflame because the entire city caught fire below and i joked about finding traffic to feel a part of something and she smiled and time wandered.