Will there be a war at dawn?
of city demons that are too kind
To play in the darkness of polluted noise
In which ever vacancy they find?
Ah. the break of that chilly morning.
With happy new lines upon my face.
Confines me futher into restlessness
Suffocating breathing space.
Toss. Toss. Beneath heavy covers.
Strangling in the city's dead
Gazing into the deepest oblivion-
lost in my shadows---painted red.
Anonymity swirls around me
Reaches a peaceful cloud and leaps
Into the pulsing heart of the blanket
Wrapped in a spirit that cannot sleep.