Atavism

2014-04-21 20.20.34

(Revision of earlier poem. Let me know what you think.)

Creeping like Australopithecus across the nostril
of the sleeping behemoth whistling night trains for feet,
escaping the swaying whiskey pint ships in the alleyway puddle,

a tribute to dissenting blood and urine,

I walk past the moon with shoes made from bestsellers,
a peter sellers mustache twitching under the streetlights
as the gondola full of stoplights swishes past, carrying its payload, a

clique of newspaper women with stern upper lips
whispering curses against the arctic night of our impending ice age.
I walk under candy stars falling from the brim of a bowler tipped by
a Clockwork mannequin,

cringing as the rooster’s crow is severed by the hangman’s noose,
wondering if the neighbor’s will tolerate another quiet night,
another belching sigh across the hallway,

as the last candle burns low, spilling its light onto my touch screen,
I bask beneath your glowing skulls, turning back the sheet
and crawling into an empty sky.

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