On Dirtied Pavement.

On the edge of metropolitan midnight he lays in a breathless silence rasping the evanescing yesterdays to his windows both open and locked, while the unknowing below in stale smoke barrooms, wait to sear his wounds and retell his life in putrefied requiem. Abashed metropolis echoing of muted voices once adorning the streets in practiced synthetic ritual, the vile awash and seeping through asphalt cracks, the scent of rot, old and new, smattered on old brick edifices silences the ascending smoke plumes belched from and within dirtied concrete towers, the final endeavor from within a dying mans spirit reaching out to no one City’s voice wails from the antechamber in darkness anxieties fracturing the panes amongst the downtown fire of urban panic lucidity congealing away within him, kept only in the moment by metronome dripped medicine exposing him to his damp streets, dirtied culverts, sewer ditches chemically induced and maintained. Fighting for his identity within this sterilized chaos, whispering for the few of open mind somewhere below the window sill, quicky stepping onward, over his newsprint life, calling out one last time There he lays in cold white sterility, calling silently to his windows, both opened and locked, watching his stories catch and fade in the dull humid streetlight wisped away on steam grate stale winds, the dying soul, eyes closed, his aged lined face muddied, scraped, and walked over, through the grime of progression left on sullied pavement.