The city sleeps...
and weary streets take respite from their toil.
Nightdwellers creep from hidden burrows,
joined in games of ancient custom.
Rain-washed roads of barren pavement,
fading light from sagging lamp-posts,
gothic, monstrous, concrete dragons
breathe and wheeze through metal bellows.
Giants' playthings, scattered, broken,
creatures of a mythic notion,
creeping, tumbling, laughing, running,
the undercity spills its tenants:
idioms on roller skates
and metaphors on holiday,
greet legends born of urban visions,
nightmares of a civic servant.
Figments of imaginations
gathered from a dozen quarters,
tangled in fantastic frolic,
mingled in peculiar fashion.
Timeless hours pass in revel,
daybreak nears and laughter falters.
Swiftly dimming starlight falls on
fleeing shadows... rippling wisps
of fable hasten to their lairs
as canyons built of steel and stone
warm slowly to the blood-red dawn.
Jennifer Cabbage lives in Oregon and is currently attempting to figure out how to cram at least 6 extra hours into every day.
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