strange night

strange night. like the ghost of once was,
or of what could be i suppose.
chalk it up to fog; thick
dense cotton candy.
with its own dementia
and personality.

i sort of hate nights like this
walking in the thick of it,
not being in san fran. and
having to make do with this soup.

it hates this city
but makes the best of the slutty
avenues that exist.

there are no alternatives. because
we all choose to live here
we all smile at the existing light
that shines from recesses
carved out by giants that
have come before.

there lies the hate. the before
not the after, not the to-come.
no. we listen but not to what will be
but what was. and therein lies our fault.

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