street dreams

the infantry of ghosts rise from the

concrete.

mine eyes cannot

distinguish the beginning of one

and the end of another.

the pungent aroma

of precipitation loitering

about in my nose as if

it were

a 7-Eleven on

a Saturday night.

with great precision

i signal right,

then left

and right again

my gestures virtually

robotic

constructing a labyrinth

retraced from memory,

patterns

so intricate the

Vitruvian Man would shrug

his shoulder blades

in confusion.

eluding the phantoms

that haunt the

streets' dreams

whilst

the streets dream

dreams,

i discover myself

in that familiar

place.

the unwavering

steel frame merely

soaring above

the blackness,

cloaked in the

velvety quilt of asphalt

soothed

by the dark blue

solace that

has embraced

me in its arms,

tucked away

with the warmth

of a summer's

night.

i am home.

once again.