Houses made of scavenged stone
and mortar mixed from rocky dust
the night remains insanely dark
without the surface of the ponds
which return the stars and moon
back to where they dangle
from the ropes.
Misunderstood people all walk
around their respective blocks
avoiding clocks and any symbols
of tomorrow while all their sorrow
builds like how this city is just one
above the last.
A woman from the movie screen
appears on shifting market signs
and people down below her stop
to stare up at her bare legs in the cold.
Everything is getting old the streetcars
look like something taught in history.
The tallest buildings stand unoccupied
with webs of cracks along their sides
the rent just wouldn’t quit the climb,
and now they are the tombstones
of the world.
Teleporting Typewriter 