Second Hand Jackets
Stray cats masquerading in chiaroscuro paintings.
There's a hole so deep in the pavement, I wonder how many layers are beneath it.
Suddenly demons of antiquity illuminate the construction machines.
They pierce my pockets for change.
Relics still in fashion; our second hand jackets.
But the warehouses are abandoned under the towering expansion.
And as they grow so too shadows, a playground for the vagrants.
Three kings are parading, and I for one am waiting.
For the ashes and straw that remain there.
I lost everything in your hypnotic stare.