One night in December,
The streets were army gray
And hurrying strangers
Rushed home for the day.
Nimble legged salesmen
Sold flowers by the street
And rhythm was the rumble
Of voices cars and feet.

The young were dressed for parties
Some sang with radios
And over-friendly women
Assumed their favorite pose.
Trashcan colored beggars
Searched gutters with their hands
While uniforms saved sinners
With sermons songs and bands.

Patrolmen sang the pop songs
From slowly cruising vans
As nighttime changes faces
Pushers change their plans.
The movie marquee lightning
Put movement to the sound
As nameless children squabbled
For pennies they had found.

Uptown they're making movies
For Hollywood L.A.
They listen to the sirens
Downtown far away.
The Civic Center phantoms
Are easy to forget.
Folks simply close their eyes
And they haven’t seen them yet.
They haven’t seen them yet.

White fairies, glide and sparkle.
Shimmering in beaming street lights, dismembered by howling wind.

the street you walk down,
dim lights on every corner,
its dark out,
It's warm out,
You prefer the street
After hours,
You prefer the world
After hours,
When it's
Quiet outside and there's finally peace,
You prefer your body,
After hours,
You prefer your mind
after hours,
When you sleep then nothing,
Hurtful matters,

And you lived,
Happily,
After hours with me.

I have little burns on my body,
like from a cigarette,
but they hurt much more,
although they haven't bled.

But those little burns, really,
aren't from a cigarette,
they are from people's looks,
looks so firm that they make me sweat.

Those looks tend to differ, though,
some feel like a cigarette,
and some feel like bullets,
that might even shoot me dead.

when did you realize
 our street was on fire
   like sort of hanging over
       smearing the hate
         for themselves
          for the rest of us
            with spark head
              moving forward


    they don't go home
 this is popcorn classic
  movement of hands
     muses getting some
         mustered
            darkness
            covered in dust
                             warmth

         the noise being made
        over layers of humanity
                          eating itself

      


                 i don't know
   i do not understand
   i don't know how to
             but i could try

Phoochkas to right of me
Phoochkas to left of me
Phoochkas in front of me
Garnished and Savored
Spiced with chaat this shell
A pani puri dunking swell
Into the jaws of yum
Into my mouth a spell
  Phoochkas by the dozen!

On a dark, dank desolated street pavement  
Stands a street lamp.
Made to guide those in need of the light.
Groomed to be brave, fearless and unwavering
Manufactured specifically to be aids
In the dark times that the city faced.

Served its purpose in the many years it stood
Lighting the way for cars as best as it could.
It shone for carriages, for kings and queens
Keeping them from harm whilst vesting the unknown
It shone for great leaders in the front line of their battles
Served as a safety sign for everyone at night.

In recent times it’s started to flicker
On and off and on and off and on and off it goes
While the mist in the streets grow thicker
No longer did it hold its eminent glow
Neck seemingly bent unlike it’s natural curve
Once flawless skin covered in blotches of dirt and rust
Its wires exposed, veins pressed against the skin
No more muscle or fat hide it

Vandalized by the impurities this world had to offer
Seemed as though it’s the people it kept safe that turned on it
He deserved a better way to die.
Not buried in forgotten memories and set aside
It served a great purpose in the hopeless tears that everyone shed in the dark
Now uprooted and thrown in the junkyard
More or less to be used like scrap metal like the rest of its kind.