Lost in the Mist

The city is gone, a ghost horizon.
Pale rain falls on the balding trees - misty drops wanting to be cold enough to be snow, but not quite making it.
Honking horns of panicked drivers, steady dribble in the downpipe, and a cold that crawls in seeking bones and the stealth theft of warmth.
I guess it's winter.

Pale Moon Rises

A pale moon rises.
The sunset is dusty like Martian earth.
Parrots scream of the end of day, from trees changing their faces to autumn colours.
The air chills windows and skin.
Lacklustre night descending.
Collar up and huddled in.
I have to work soon and don't want to.
So I'll keep watching the sky, and waiting for this nothing.

All That Glimmers

The wind hits my skin.
It's not icy, but cold enough to make me shiver.
The skinny cigarette rises to my lips, flares red, and I blow the plume out, watching it quickly merge into the panorama of rooves made black and grey by night.
Streetlights glow like hopeful gems, but they don't look magical today. All I can think when I see them is that those simple shining lamps are the only thing stopping humans turning back into animals.
And that is terrifying - probably why people don't gaze at streetlights and think about them.
Our other natures are best left unknown.

I scan the footpaths, I listen. Taggers love this time of night.
But even the roads are close to empty, like everyone has a secret, of why it's not a good night to be out in the world - a secret everyone knows but me.
I wish for more cars, I wish for none. A mind trying to distract itself from itself.

At least the city looks pretty. Almost bulging with sleek fat towers, red lights dancing ominously atop. From here the skyscrapers look like dark poles of LEDs. The cloud cover sits aloft, leaving a darkness below to contrast one version of night from another, to hug around the inky monoliths like bats wings.

There is no peace here. Just night.