Run

Fair city, footed in the ashes of autumn,

(Breath)

The moon has been beggared of its fearfulness

As the nights stain the afternoons.

A woman paces the newly long shadows -

Afflicted. She has an erosion of capacity.

Don't we all?

Pedestrians to the world watch as she screams

Of anarchy, lies, and broken tea cups,

While students to her disorder torch coffee shops with

The oppressive heat of conjecture. Silly children.

Like fog, their bias spills out and condenses on the cool cement and

An endless motorcade slips them quietly by,

Boasting ten thousand flashes of epileptic mayhem -

A gross of laborers, idling far from their berths,

Grapple with the trafficked fumes of impatience.

The brief day has need of strength -

An erosion of complacency.

A moment of endlessness.

Anything -

Fair city, burning for winter.