City lights endure,
permitting protection from darkness
cutting into the general surroundings, with
unequaled brilliance. I, alone in the night
lost in clarity as a memorandum of
fog, forged by decaying cigarettes, left
unattended by pedestrian eyes signaling to me the
cracks in the sidewalk that supports the city.
Supporting the daily commute and crime,
murdering my childish smile when one cigarette
smolders out making me notice
blood drops on the concrete.
My uninspired attempts at masterpiece sear the tips of my fingers that charcoal infinitely onto innocent paper, scarring its symmetry with coarse words whose sounds scrape, strangely unaware of their existence, against each other etching impulse into, my, reality that of imitation mass produced norms that confound the essence of life.
A lone wicker stool intricately cuts in half
the hardened kitchen,softened, by oaken branches
hoarding moonlight, preventing the crystal clear
cups from revealing the faint smudges
left on his face as his breath slowly
fogs a curved reflection, the cabinets creak
and slowly splinter, chipping in disproportionate
patterns connectable only through the dots
of wormhole marks left under their natural stain,
marble counters hide droplets of spilled milk
in creamy camouflage until they overflow their
self created edges with the unbounded salty
abandon of another sleepless night.
If I was cut from a different cloth
a silk that could bend but not break,
finely woven with hand-me-down threads
actively aging, blended colors and adorned
by frayed ends breathing off small strands
of personality distinguishing my
quilted spirits from one another,
perhaps cloth covers would be
a relief before a means to disappear
unevenly, from the world.