© 1992 – DV8
in between the hours and the railroad tracks
loneliness stalks the city like a hunter
winos growl at passersby
water trickles drip by drip
from the faucet in an empty room
idle sleepers lie unconscious in doorways
lovers lie unconscious in their beds
while dreams ripple and twitch in their bodies
day walkers with sleep drugged eyes
filled with yesterday’s dreams
amble on into the space of an empty day
people running from that unloved abyss
peer into the daylight and moonlight
through the 21 inch eyeball of television babble
some liquor up at fancy bars
sipping innuendoes
while talking quietly in crescendos
about chic and shack and bric-a-brac
others argue,
their shouts and verbal racket
playing counterpoint to the surrealistic symphony
of baseball, soccer and pigskin frolic
over in the corner sits a woman
with her rubber nipple and baby rituals
giving child his first lessons in a synthetic world
down the street is the schoolhouse
mistaken often for the jailhouse
bell rings once, children rush out
bell rings again,
men and women in black ties and white shirts rush in
and the cell door is closed
downtown by day
automated speakers play financial symphonies
Dow Jones paging Mr. Jones,
Dow Jones paging Ms. Jones, please report
By night romantic interludes
Mr. Jones calling Ms. Jones,
Mr. Jones calling Ms. Jones, please report
walled up building by square building
and locked away room by insulated room
antiquated demons haunt us fears taboos and status
like giant tapeworms consume us
walled up and locked away
the city is populated with ghosts of yesterdays children
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