The city streets drip with mist perspiration,
As lonely souls wander in taciturn coats,
Fighting the winter chill with clouds of breath.
The emptiness of dark held back by the glow
Of a thousand neon candles
Blindingly warm and obstinately cold,
Sharing life with battery vehicles and electric whirrings.
While broken carbon chains in gutters lie,
Staving hunger with plinks of coins
And words of “Bless you.”
Shivering fingers in rattered gloves,
Remembering days of green and baby blue,
When grey didn’t smother the light.
Instead, an age of bandages wrapped
Around tender eyes when the sun shows.
A city of neon restaurants and neon stores
Smeared against neon streets and neon buildings
With neon signs and patrons wearing neon
Gazing with neon stares
From emotionless neon hearts—
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The blind are the lucky ones