Older poem.. thing.
Streetlights
July 31st 05
Sidewalk pavement freckled with smashed glass, jagged beads of translucent mirrors reflecting back an amber hue of mechanical radiance. Curbsides chipped to cement lips frindgeing the highway's onyx ribbon of asphalt, rubber seeming to grace the dark kingdom of roadlines in weighted flight. Headlights stabbed through an unotherwise mute landscape of the darkest of hours, an hour in which I sit, consumed with the nerve impulses sparking my brain into some pathetic attempt at thoughtful existance. Theres an inexplicable longing to leave invisable footprints in my wake beneath the glow of these streetlights, to be there and yet leave no trance evidence of having once visited such a brilliant place. With a hand finding sanctuary in my pocket, and the other, tending to an absently burning cigarette, only whispers will ever be spoken in that place of false light. Sidewalks watching and observing my solitude, I would cross the street, traffic lights morphing colors in a familiar greeting.. red means hello at this hour. Steel somehow harboring a kiss of chill when fingertips are brought to glide across the gaurdrails, these illuminations of tall, all-knowing streetlights flooding my perceptions and my persona and briefly stroaking something inside of me that once was fierce. Now, it is dormant, or worse yet, dieing. In my world, I wrap my hand around a streetlight post, tilt my face hellbound, and catch a fleeting glimpse of stars from the corner of my hollow eyes. Nothing can break me beneath these streetlights, the buzzing drone from their energy electrifying my core. My territory is broken glass, pavement, and dimly lit streets, my haven is batheing in the lightbeams.
July 31st 05
Sidewalk pavement freckled with smashed glass, jagged beads of translucent mirrors reflecting back an amber hue of mechanical radiance. Curbsides chipped to cement lips frindgeing the highway's onyx ribbon of asphalt, rubber seeming to grace the dark kingdom of roadlines in weighted flight. Headlights stabbed through an unotherwise mute landscape of the darkest of hours, an hour in which I sit, consumed with the nerve impulses sparking my brain into some pathetic attempt at thoughtful existance. Theres an inexplicable longing to leave invisable footprints in my wake beneath the glow of these streetlights, to be there and yet leave no trance evidence of having once visited such a brilliant place. With a hand finding sanctuary in my pocket, and the other, tending to an absently burning cigarette, only whispers will ever be spoken in that place of false light. Sidewalks watching and observing my solitude, I would cross the street, traffic lights morphing colors in a familiar greeting.. red means hello at this hour. Steel somehow harboring a kiss of chill when fingertips are brought to glide across the gaurdrails, these illuminations of tall, all-knowing streetlights flooding my perceptions and my persona and briefly stroaking something inside of me that once was fierce. Now, it is dormant, or worse yet, dieing. In my world, I wrap my hand around a streetlight post, tilt my face hellbound, and catch a fleeting glimpse of stars from the corner of my hollow eyes. Nothing can break me beneath these streetlights, the buzzing drone from their energy electrifying my core. My territory is broken glass, pavement, and dimly lit streets, my haven is batheing in the lightbeams.