Siren taps out the loud tattooing cane.
Like chattering coins into the trite tin cup,
the lights are gathered up;
drop down in the darkened pocket.
Eyes are futile at first like burnt-out flashlight bulb.
Till darkness lends accommodating fuse;
prowl over the furry avenues
like mewing tail.
No echo of light in alley anywhere.
Dead End. And dawn is a ghost or a dream.
Only the flaring heart, lit up like a scream,
beating neon-loud.
Leave a Reply