From The Lab

City of Mists

Wicked, dark thoughts in the city of mists,
Undisguised senses lost in awe and fear,
The midday rain's after-breeze stinking high,
Tossed on wings, in variations of sky,
Above the labyrinth of twisted streets,
Amidst the pickpocket vendors and grime,
Knee deep in sewage for innermost schemes,
Blind to reality's beckoning call;
Where misogynists dip and dart in pairs,
And the magic of the moment made dull
Compels one towards the alley wars, and
At sight of the revival of peril,
Those lowbrow tactics emerge once again.
Sheets of drizzle refuse to wash away
The message of the 'hood's harsh, sad sermons,
Baked long ago in the clay of the mind,
For Athena's wisdom has no place here
In Apollo's world of courage and strength;
Deadly individuals romp and roam,
Claiming their resurgence to be their own,
Drowning in hatred and other symbols,
Clustered together like peas in the pod
On blocks built crooked from cold glass and steel.
Ghostly forms sprint along the razor's edge,
Fading under the streetlight's washed pale glow,
Wading through the spent ammo of choices
Gone wrong, with little to no slick riposte;
The shadows of this century grow long,
Creeping along the pavement like bandits
Hell-bent on using their sticky fingers.
Wicked, dark thoughts in this city of mists.