Fresh-Start City

There's no-one waiting at the intersection
for a woman with two torches, or
a top-hatted skeleton in a black frock coat.
The stoplights blink from red to green
regulating the flow of imaginary traffic
while the amber LEDs on the bank clock
tick noiselessly down to midnight
of what day, no-one knows for sure.

There's no ghost hanging up a pay phone
or slumped on a bus stop bench
by the flashing blue PABST sign.
No restless dead ramble this city where
newspapers slink down the sidewalks
at night, ashamed to show their dates
which are inevitably wrong, but can be used
to forecast losing Lotto numbers.

The street smells of rain that fell weeks ago
in another country. We've sideslipped
in time, and some things didn't come with--
accumulated weight of history and habit.
Now each step of the drunkard's walk
traverses new terrain, and all encounters
are random chance; destiny is dead
or not yet born, in Fresh-Start City.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside