driving through the city
snow glowing yellow in the streetlights
a few lonely people walking
sadly, alone, cold
signs, once bright, are dark
in reflection of the winter sky –
clouds hanging low,
loosing ice upon a desolate world –
while other signs shine still
emanating their scintillating advertisements
to those who care (none)

I turn on the radio to keep awake
(I’ve slept so little
and it’s past the witching hour)
hear anger, perhaps, or hatred –
angstful songs of morbid fears –
then sadness, desperation –
melancholic harmonies mixed with
depressing dissonance (I sing along)

the streetlamps reflect in blurry spots
on the melted snow covered asphalt –
isolated spectral will-o’-wisps
against a field of darkly nothing

chain link fences of frozen metal
surround each side of the street
protecting the rich from the hopeless
(not nearly as efficient
as the silver threads
that keep me tonight from you)

dark, snow covered highway at 1 a.m.
distant coal-black clouds
cast dim red hues as sparsely
as the night gives warmth
(giant dirty mirror of the city lights below)
stars invisible behind that intangible curtain
darkness seeps into every pore,
every crack, every accepting crevice
of the forbidding worlds
as I drive (weary) home
from a night spent (pleasantly)
in quiet discourse:
two lonely not-lovers
yearning for companionship
but not with each other
each tentative touch, caress
bringing closer to merely deeper friendship
ending with a never-kiss
to sleep again alone

09/23/2001

Posted on 09/23/2001
Copyright © 2024 Gary Hoffmann