I pass like night

Through human cobwebs, electric-flesh tunnels and mildewed shelves,
Through corridors of murky, shit-splattered red light,
Through overflowing canals, stuck with refuse, junk, and burnt rubber,
A soft breathing hue, a gentle wind blown darkness rests on them,
Sings quiet, psycho-babble mumblings on their shadow licked faces,
As beads of light, granules of living pour from the windows onto the land of the tunnels, drains, and pipes,
The rats speak of ancient needs, the dogs of desire and death between the chewing of bone,
The avenue of trees exhale in purple bowls between the concrete, they have deeper voices, old dead memories hang from their branches and unrequited love pines tenderly on their leaves and roots,
Rolling balls of Scarlett and yellow light announce life, sewing the silence together,
I pass like night,
Inside their folds of grey muslin, the stars like pockets of sense and impulse in my brain, the night like my weary, prehistoric body bends with the turn of the wind,
I pass like night, through you and the dreary taste in your finger nails,
You will be broken flowers at dawn, lying at the doorway
You will be the sun, melting the blue sky, into a garden of white
Where old, irrelevant, over-worn brick-a-brac from frozen years go out to die.
I pass like night.