The Evening Universe

This city of aborted dreams takes on

a thick gray pallor as wind picks up.

Its drains plugged, gobs of sludge

will be forced through pipes to the sea…

I am watching

the pupils of your eyes

you are staring to the future

I watch the past

Here, for a transitory period, existence questioned sometimes,

I make you seen, an invisible pain killing me.

A carrier of a shapeless me,

silence, a soothing darkness, I weep hard.

It was the perfect pilgrimage.

No daylight trudge through

Baltimore backstreets.

This was a late night

orgy of terror.

The wind sliced across the parking lot of a Gizard’s Southern Fried. The snow froze to a slippery sheen, the kind that resembles reflective glass when...

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