It's the witching hour in the city.
Sparse asylums of light drip from the crowns of traffic poles.
Close your eyes and imagine a soft blue light in the distance.
Focus on that light.
Envision it,
Let it soothe you.
Shear glints of light reflect from the shined metal skin of slowly passing cars.
Drunk drivers warming up,
And not by their heaters.
Faceless folks walk alone,
Always alone.
Metal, and brick, and concrete,
Oh the concrete!
So stained with blood.
The pouring of chilled Fall rain
Builds personal havens for the minds
Out of white noise.
Rugged Individualism at its saddest.
Social seclusion and depravity.
As devil's hour approaches
A cerement of mist materializes,
Another sanctuary for the brutal and insecure.
The incandescence of the red light district
Saturates the mist with blood hue.
Party goers guffaw beside
The ragged derelict.
Apartheid in The City.
