The early encroachment of
darkness arrived hand in hand
with the naked black fingers of the
tree limbs.

Those fingers married to
the unmuffled wind
which now gasped and screamed
in fits of vitality (like
some terrified animal fighting
a trap) as it scraped itself across the frigid
concrete and over
the stiff dry blades of yellow grass,
and echoed that awful moan
across each and every hard
unforgiving surface
so that it could find the window
of my dark bedroom.

My nine year old self, under covers
eyes staring at the soft edged
steely-colored ceiling shadows
of streetlight-cast venetian blind windowframe.

Tar colored shadows pooled in the crevices
between the greys
extending in feathery obsidian tentacles
like summer pond leeches.

The crying wind carries with it
a cacophony of disparate portent.

From the trainyards, the
deep dead Cello of the engines
burrowing deep into my soul
accented by the prison door slammings
of coupling cars, and the off key
bellowing of the air horns.

In the alley the clashing metal of trash collection
percussion overlaying the robotic-dinosaur call of the garbage truck.

Sirens piercing in the distance with
visions of blood and violence.

So alone, in the darkness in my mind
this lullaby of horror
Carries me into oblivion.