Festina Lente

for dawn will
find us

among tracks
meaningless lines
among steel
blocks rotting
brothers to
our ancient
gods among
broken glass
and scraps of
printed word

dawn will
rise

from disfigured
black piles resting
beneath gray fog
luster fixated rubber
hearts melting clusters
white curling round
skinny sleek
frames

dawn will
rise

over sickle celled
moon our corrosions
hidden cycles
old and new
a poor mans fall
through dusks
deep blue

big bellies big
night lead us
eyes astray huddle
quite nohomes into
alleyways Over
subways tagged in
epochs wide expanses
that mix up our
nine to five
clocks advances

quite city
searching

will find gates
horned with liquid
tar holding life
huddled in bones
matter to call a home
from creeping down
six feet

twenty-four hours
till next round