Faust in the Industrial Age

The fire-escape is faulty, so ascend
with care; don't stomp and shake it loose. The noise
would wake the neighborhood, and people tend

to like their sleep. Each ashen dawn destroys
some dreamer's childhood home of hedgerows
where sparrows hide their nests from egging boys

and girls weave daisy-chains and tie bright bows
in feathered bangs. Nostalgia is the lot
of country mice who've stuck their furry toes

in city traps. But you and I are not
of such a breed; we're alley cats. So come,
survey our designated kingdom from this spot,

this warehouse roof, so high beneath the dome
of sky defined by traceries of smoke,
the ceiling of the place that we call home.

It's midnight, but the witching-hour stroke
will go unstruck tonight. The clock is dead,
its restless hands are still. The mainspring broke

when you and I walked past, our timeless tread
too heavy for that slave of Time to bear.
We've silence for the things that must be said.

But claim your power, and the very air
will veil your limbs in roiling clouds of soot
and carry you invisible to where

your mousy minions cower underfoot.
At your word, every door will stand unlocked
and every window open, spilling loot

while merchants flutter helplessly and shocked
consumers turn from reading Vogue and Trend.
You'd never find a route to freedom blocked.

This city your fief, world without end:
but trust in Mephistopheles, your friend.

--for Poefusion
Collection available! Knocking from Inside