Night is the last language of day,
full of unspoken wishes while breathing
new words. Theatres with black and
white movies attract the mysterious;
plenty of empty red velvet seats.
Stained concrete steps descend into the
veins of subways. Under examined
street art is worth less than the paint.
Crisscrossing pedestrians stream past like
lazy pond fish. The curious scroll down
outside restaurant menus, pointing without
comment.
The street is full of trespassers. They attempt
to alienate themselves from gathering while there
eyes are fences of resistance.
Roger Singer 