Ali B's blog/

The Golgotha grin of the Lunar Light,

swims, through the hurrying

scarper of emptying hours.

Far away trains, scrape hard

at the steel, yet time

brings a sweet orchestration to sound.

Castanet heels in rapid departure

rally for home, with a four step scrape.

A fat lip kerb, carries litter and rain

by the black-eyed doorways..

the hunched hedge shapes.

Traffic Lights carnival

in unified timing

mute disco directives

as colours dilate

They party in silence

on edges of pavements,

where nobody "Go's"

or "Stops" or "Waits"

A virginal state of atonement

drifts in,

an "after catharsis" of darkness

and whim.

In a town full of dreamers,

of fidgeting sleepers,

of foraging felines in tryst

behind bins.

The habitual halls

of the curried berserkers

deserted, devoid

of all movement-

save that-of the

Paperboy, Milkman,

the Post Office worker,

the "Three Wise Men"

of the "Welcoming" mat.

The Oort belt circles

of the Night Staff's eyes

orbit the curious blood peppered whites,

pupils that learn of the coming of morning,

plagiarize , easy, the deep, Eastern split..

Torn from its tether

with dizzying spleandour,

no better stigmata

to start up the blaze

The wagons roll in

under harsh haemoglobin..

Into the day..

He fades.....