the crate in which the vampires and felines come out at night. to walk with warying eyes, with a look of blood that directs to bare legs. 8 oclock and a wise man will walk with narrow diverted eyes. its where nothing but shadows cover the yellow streets, making a connect the dots of street lamps, to the next underground hide away they can steer to, hiding in the depths once again. hardly are these creatures seen in the day, when light is shining in a real ray. the night tries to last and claws at the backs of unassuming prey, hurting to consume into the following.
get out of my neighborhood you rats. feeding on the scraps of shallowness that are given. leave.
a bird sings and an alarm buzzes. one arises and rolls around thinking and speaking, reading and writing. crawls up hits a button, runs water and heads onto the hill. up one round another down a hundred steps, hongik university where 8 o'clock is quiet, and 9 o'clock is bustling with those running sensibly for they should not be late. to stand on a cross walk safely and unassuming, waiting for as joyful as a puppy run across the street, safely and purposely. to walk inward where a ray may yet enter to encourage and inspire. to seek a quiet spot, a near by one can rest a bag and take a seat, expect to run into someone familiar. in the days. come back.
1 comment:
Cool poem man, I can totally feel the picture yer paintin
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