Nighthawks

               It gets desolate in the vacant shopping center parking lot,. amidst the neon skyline. Broken glass bottle shards and deserted traffic signals. An abandoned parkway rests along the dreary retired settlement. The suburban perimeter drifts outward along the excluded intersection. Prior to the afternoon cloudburst. A car engine roars off in the distance,. with treacherous squealing off the curbed sidewalk.
              A sunken valley of mud below the granite carpeted asphalt. Lonesome at the midnight diner once again. Weary- eyed in a corner booth. A smoky resolution upon a fresh year of conspicuous calamity. Deluded with cynical skepticism,. and front page mockery. The black ink that exploits the daytime endeavors.The city street is eluded now, dismal and forlorn.
              Evening news and cheap souvenirs,. an unmistakeable rendezvous,. with a mistress or two. Does one take sugar with his teatime sweets?,. or black,. as the downtown subway alignment. Interchangeable,. the follies of a warped century that overlooks the populated freeway. Vast skyscrapers and electronic night- terrors. The sheltered homeless that dwell on metropolitan park benches, with torn laced sneakers and narrow horizons. Mr. could you spare a quarter,. a penny for your dreams,. or a nickel for your soul. The morning after nightclubs,. then trashcans overflowing with cigaret butts and sandwich ends. The brown paper bag establishments that reek of imitation cigars and lighter fluid. I say burn the whole place down to the soiled surface.
             Shut your eyes now,. primitive children of forgotten lessons,. and do not yield your integrity to the inviting temptations you seek,. towards the tail- end of your imaginary rainbow.
            A drunken phone conversation,. fueled with fierce demands and profanity. A roach infested tenement with a filthy bathroom. What image exudes itself from the intoxicating television commercial interval. Outside of the  fourth- story livelihood,. there lies a paved unraveling walkway,. that leads to the landlords gray office. . Alley cats stray out of the underground basement facility. The unrewarded journey to the liquor store,. an uncompromising reality,. filled with broken fantasies and gasoline portrayals.
               The bedsheets are worn upon the coiled mattress,. as the delicate rain outside languidly softens. The moist rooftop rests in a dreamlike slumber.  This is what you love the most,.. it all happens while you are sleeping.