The journey of the Earth round
Leaves its corpse to rot on our streets.
How the discarded remains cover our vast land!
They remain, figures.
Ephemeral effigies of our disdain, ephemeral
Like the days,
Like the moments when the
Sun leaves a textured temperature upon oneself
As it peeks from behind
A mountain seemingly of darkened glass.
How the light reflects, reflects off of the façades!
(Those that aren’t covered sloppily with death.)
The light dances flagrantly in the dimming sky,
Bringing attention to the winning conquest of darkness.
How it bathes the city in its success, frozen and black!
Oh, but it is charming, like a virgin dressed scantily in naïveté.
Though, it is quiet; taciturn, save when it roars
And purges the grids once built upon industry in
The most damned cold. And we lay our head
On the coldest of shoulders: The most superior of shoulders.
Light drifts down from the astutely placed orbs above,
Diffused onto the pavement, mottled with ice.
How the black velvet sky holds so well eternal jewels; giants!
Though, the vernal sun shall win soon enough.
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