Listening to the ***** din of Sin

City streets

It’s concrete weight after hours.

The window ajar

to let the outside air in

while chain smoking to the whirring sirens'

soundtrack

of harpies' in heels

clucking and squealing

(laughter as sharp as their stilettos)

midnights past

black rubber tires burnt

From black boulevards

vehicular collisions'

sounds stalagmite, metallic

crunch

against the hum of sleeping traffic

signals

this hollow city like a wide amphitheater

with the occasional Harley motorcycle's

Growling thunderous fuss

waking car alarms

               (Loud choirs of infants’ high pitch wailing...)

Yet the desert night's siroccos moan

outside my 2nd floor apt. window,

in dark rooms

where silence is a deep listener

and my mind a curious wanderer,

where the walls

not only keep out

but carry every conversation

in such a cryptic void

a spark is gleaned,

a firefly wisp of an epiphany

we are not separate

you and I

        city and fly

        burrow and groundhog

        dam and ******


we are unread books in dark rooms

waiting for the absolute

truth’s boon

we find

in one another

to be known

to be keenly seen

Igniting past horrors

louder pains

from this city that strips us;

our pages like Window panes

ajar...

No matter how ugly the chapters

we will have known

joy being


Your emblazoned story

is also mine /

Up north & southern highs

swamp willows

breath and sultry kiss.


All humid human wish

Sweating the nights awake

Until dusk is dawn

light draining the sinew,

All screaming sins since

Now made few…


Steaming steeped shadows

shattering length wise

In lieu

On bright carpets made of morning

Green grass and dew

still

our day to be / written New

dream like

fireflies

In dark rooms,

These simple stories

                (a night sky full of story…)

Each light the eyes touch :

Fireflies in dark rooms.