the cities patterned like the flights
Are quiet blazing clusters now at rest;
curtains pulled, little nests
The city manufactured golds and whites
That substitute for color faded west
Limit eyes beneath them to see at best
Only a star or two on moonless nights.
The scattered towns burning
up and down like a candle
And sleepy heads put out like
My own sleepy head is more
But those tangled grids of light
are more than i can forget.
Well the sky to the ground,
it almost looks like a mirror.
cause it ain't hard to tell which is which:
One's measured when a black hole
pole star bends light nearer to itself
One's measured when a body
is looking up from a ditch.
There's a feeling in my mind that's either
fire or fire forever for now
And I can tell you friend,
Is consuming desiring and
always burning out somehow
In a bed of stars half charted
I've got the turn signal clicking
with the highhat on the radio,
There's an antique voice fixing to
It's like Dante and subways and words left in the air,
You've got to go underground
if you want to get anywhere.
4.8
