Street Life

Magnolia walls that lay like beaches around this island bed, neon pollen throwing crosses from windows pane as Friday nights vocalist vomited lyrics into hedgerow mike. Macadam stretched between penguin houses, black ice with diamond eyes shone as she stood in spotlights glare of the last bus, never knew her name only her stare, sweeping the damp street for sanctuary away from needles making love to junkies. Bump and grind persona pulsed like an aftershock through the cotton night, and even the shadows thrust through an endless swirl of hidden pleasures. Tomorrows regrets, and how I see a world content to keep revolving, while I am forever in dusk asking questions, pleading answers from the nameless faces beneath my tomb.