The night floods in like rolling lava,
smothering the last dregs of day light.
My breath hangs in the air like smog adding to the
strangle hold on the city.
A voice like tattered ribbons of a well worn flag flutter by on a breeze as dry and un-moving as the skeletal remains of a bloated and squeezed open graveyard rolling down the hill -
beckoning for a cigarette light to find a way home.
The dim x lights of the night muses spark to life and die an inch away.
Disembodied voices cajole as more ribbons flutter on a river of sliding sand dunes - seeking, seething, saluting pustule'd nudity,
then dissipate as the lowly gravitate to all they know from a classroom.
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