I survey the landscape and see the stench of spoiled milk about in pools and puddles. Walking these streets to gaze at the billboards and images of discord as the day continues. Amazed at the short lived venues and door ways that I’ve been through and many taverns I’d get into and still the landscape has changed.

Positions mentioned or rearranged and the same sour stench, same old way, different degree on a different day. The sound of broken melodies play, hide and seek games. I see the little children laughing and dying at the same time, skipping rope to pass the time until they too will fade away. I see empty alley ways that hold memory ways and still speaking today.

Empty cases of make-up that are supposed to cover-up the main stuff that some try to hide. I see epitaphs and sign language that overlaps, empty facts and substance lacks and yet…the days are bright. I see the curtains drawn with many souls torn, dead ideas that still born because…when they come out they have been dead for some time.

I find loose change and torn bills, economic ills and effortless attempts to spill and flow accept the sour milk dilutes and mutes. Passing by empty spaces and places and upside down smiles on many faces and still face less opposition. Even if I’d stop to mention the lack of permission wouldn’t let me, cold outside so the fire temps me relentlessly.

Turning down my plate of rotted food and the deadness and despised aromas, intake I refuse. As the laughter and teeth chatter from this brisk walk into the abyss, even I reminisce when bright lights would bring out the best of the best and the best there is. As the blocks in the distance repent I grace the pavement like always watching and waiting….taking a deep inhale.

With whaling winds and the sounds of the start of ending travels, I pull up a seat and marvel at the sky. Reddened and overcast with so much as the movement is fast…paced. The empty streets become crowded today because death and misery have found their way back to home. Alone is staggering drunk off of regret, sipping and sipping making sure to not miss…a drop.

Pity is hand dancing with rot while consuming neglect from each and every spot. All the while gazing at a reflectionless surface smiling and stroking eye brows agreeing to agree with itself, all for not. This conversation is intriguing to say the least as they all gather around and salivate to feast….on themselves.

These cannibals and animals project volatile venom as their words, be it plagiarized or found falling from broken mandibles…and yet too easy to handle because they stand in a pool of empty. I adjust my seat to make sure I am seeing this correctly, even as the rot piles up next to me…I inhale deep.

Finishing this visual debauchery and mockery of the city I just shake my head…really. As I travel on and looking back to see the frenzy of the dead and effortless that substantially respected the city…I can see the ruins of the skyline and architecture simply brewing to crumble. Keeping the walk humble I pluck a flower who’s peddles bare little life, sheltering from the elements on this night…we walk on.