Cigarette constellations, ashtray galaxies,

urban tapestries where time unfurls realities,

exhaled from breathless wisps of smoke that flow

from apartments' windows below.

Footsteps reverberate,

in the hollow confines of the street's shadow.

A city's heartbeat, discreet in silence,

murmurs through concrete ventricles.

Press them to your ear,

listen to the thumping,

subtle and near.

Raise your gaze to the city's fingers,

stretching towards a leaden sky.

Read graffiti poetry on walls forty stories high,

in cryptic verses coaxing wandering minds

to imagine their inverses.

Metaphors linger

in the midnight air,

the twilight sonnet where words declare

triumph over city heights,

briefly alight,

as neurons excite before night denies

the city’s eyes.

In the living, breathing, seeing city, I am found

in alleys where whispers dance,

a tight narrow expanse

beneath a midnight moon's mercurial glow,

where neon dreams ebb and flow.

Picturing pale stars

plucked from cosmic debris,

in this urban tapestry discharging reality.

I feel the rigid earth's resistance,

while measuring our distance

by every degree.

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