Black hill bulging on the north head -
city streets burning bourbon glow along the surface.
Bringing a blistering wind from the southeast,
stinging thin skin and whistling between the leaves.
The stars ***** the papery grey cloud layer.
Company bursts the pockets of air:
supple bubbles,
broken under heavy water poured for drowning in,
from the glands of hedonists and socialites
all round, alright, aloud, alight, a hound,
a beast of the night,
sinking into the black thick tar,
slicked with scotch,
burning, hoarding the air
above him.