of the city

Eye motion 

the horizon swells with rawness
a white cumulous beehive,
my thoughts circle the distance
like black heavy flies,
the hairs of time
stroking my mind
like the drunken summer of an engine;
the horizon swells with pink oil
all the trees are horses
with green galloping flowers as their
heads,
my joy is the shy protruding
obnubilation
frozen in the sky like a gray cusp of moon

I am the city
with the touch as long as the empty
avenues;
my eyes strange
as the streetlight’s gloom.

Nihilistic Poetry