Rhythm of the night 

Remember hearing about the witching hour as a child? 


The Rhythm of the night 


There is a hum to the night

A rhythm

You can hear it most clearly in the city

Sure

But it’s always there

 

A seething presence

Hidden in the slight poison

Of the halogen peach skies

We propagate

 

It sprawls and claws

A silence not quite silent

Becomes a pulsing presence

Gnawing at the electricity we feed it

 

You can never quite place it

But the world never stopping

Has become an entity

A late night God of our own making

 

Even when, in the dead of night

We stumble and pitch down

 

Deserted

 

Streets

Hoping for a glimpse of an early train

Of anything with wheels

 

There’s just a sense

A shadow

A whisper

That the tarmac is humming

 

Not to the rhythm of us guzzling current

Nor to the beat of the box door djs

The rumble of a town that never sleeps

Has become the hum of a night whose spirit is wild

 

 

Sloth out 

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