there have been signs
of death,
skulls,
skeletons,
dust
on ideas in my mind
up above in black
with partial inside light
to help see through
shadows
to write this
where bats fly
and the city breathes
cats crawl on rooftops
people appear from
everywhere
out of every window
every door
and the city buildings
appear like lit cigars
up in hazy,
downtown night spots
on Saturday night...
but it's Sunday
and there are cigarettes
and crickets,
late night traffic
the faint hum of electricity
the sound of doors closing
and there's a green house
that stands out
old and wisened
with a yard spotlight
showing it's antiquity
with style and class
to the whole neighborhood
then just one faint
holler
from the alley
and it is dark
and silent again
it is time for sleep