Streetlights North
it's its own
atmosphere
each orangelight
sans fire burns on what's
left of trees
on an abandoned block
the street is heard
brittle footsteps under
the lamp above that creaks,
moved
how just every
2 am walk alone, but
below it's still stone
to break glass —
is to break the very night
hollow, blind
dead
~ written on a winternight
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