Viewport width =
May 8, 2017 | by  | in Poetry |
Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

Nightlife

Past midnight, and, obscured by darkness,

I lie a slumbering landscape, fabric and flesh.

Still silence rises to deep steady thumping

For a moment, I think it’s my own heart pumping

But it’s drumbeats, not heartbeats,

Though they merge for a few beats,

’Til the sound fades away, the rhythm swept on

With more roads yet to course along.

 

The city may sleep, but this little beat

Is the engine of life driving on through the night

City blood’s pumped by such bass heartbeats,

Flowing through hills beaded by street lights

Orange sequins that pulse

Against blue hued sky,

Keeping our little world alive.

Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

About the Author ()

Comments are closed.

Recent posts

  1. Issue 21, Vol 81: Looking Back
  2. Foraging Video Recipes
  3. 5 TV Shows that *Might* Fool Others into Thinking You’re a History Wunderkid
  4. Books With Protagonists Our Age (That Don’t Suck)
  5. Changing Tides
  6. In Defense of the Shitty Sci-Fi Sequel
  7. Avantdale Bowling Club
  8. Medium Playback
  9. The International Angle
  10. The Poo Review
Website-Cover-Photo7

Editor's Pick

This Ain’t a Scene it’s a Goddamned Arm Wrestle

: Interior – Industrial Soviet Beerhall – Night It was late November and cold as hell when I stumbled into the Zhiguli Beer Hall. I was in Moscow, about to take the trans-Mongolian rail line to Beijing, and after finding someone in my hostel who could speak English, had decided