• Follow me closely, my fickle-wind kite
    Follow my shadow, child, all through the night.
    red streetlights flicker, the tagged walls closing in
    turn smudged dog-eared corners to a ramshackle site-
    -we have reached our destination.
    Grime coats the streets like blackletter carpet
    it tracks on our shoes as we walk our way in.
    There is filth on the mat-
    -many shoes have left their dirt here.
    Most leave the club with only a speck or so left
    but some pairs shall fail to truly exit at all.
    Do I too leave my shoes here, every night?
    Have I been this way before?
    Some shoulder their burdens without the ambrosia
    but I lack the will to fight as they do, and
    try as I might,
    a clear-headed morning is just out of my grasp.
    Take care that your fingers do not someday slip
    only to rest once again on the handle of this-
    -my night life.