Techno beats a-rhythmically
In my ear
To Match my heart
But keeps time with my brain,
And the night consumes the
Colors of the street.
The day was too cold
And the sun's beams
Failed to linger
Like the last thought I had
And failed to keep.
Orange cream-cicle lights
Paint grey masonry
With pale orange pastels
Where street light's fingers touch
And shadows are more like
An abstract artists vision
We tread upon…
The broken dreams of
People lay beneath their feet
And skate boards click, click, click
Over the cracks,
Like those in the hearts
Of those who sleep in dark corners nearby
Their pillows are as imaginary
As their conversations
To unseen companions,
And we wrinkle our noses
And scoff at them we pass by.
While amoebas of young men
Who should hold the hope of
Our collective futures in their hands
Instead gawk at asses and breasts
And clink glasses of forgetfulness
And swallow so they can forget
They are empty inside,
And responsible for
more than they can imagine.
While Gaggles of girls
Innocently and brazenly
Sing of songs of love
Which hold little hope
Of coming true as a homeless
Man walks past,
An omen they cannot see,
and like the death of age
and tears, a breeze shakes free
the leaves of autumn,
to be crushed beneath designer shoes
none of them earned,
but can swear they deserved.
And the cold cloak of night
Engulfs it all,
Like a lover,
Taking it all in,
Each sweet and bitter
Sight and moment
Like a sweet whole
Harvest peach,
Cooked until it's
Texture no longer
Needed the teeth
Of youth.
