The west is a lonely ritual...

Seeded in florescence,
Quiet but self-aware indifference.

Barely breathing,
Fireworks, gunshots, lightening,
Unrequiting.

Where dawn is bright and out of
place, and beneath it cardboard cutout estates.

Where eyes are fraught with glaring rejection,
And where we only cross paths at highway intersections.

And headlights echo deep wandering beams,
And shine palely into our uncrowded dreams.

Human warmth is replaced by electric heating
And people become cold, cold, cold and fleeting.