Rhythm
goes underground.
The clock clicks 12 twice a
day. And night movements glow that much
slower.

It’s time
to find your own
metronome encased in
mahogany wood. Wound up and
ready

to soothe
the most restless
body to haunt empty
streets. When will the pendulum swing
back is

not the
question you want
to ask. It’s those alleys
that connect everything back to
nothing.