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


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





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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