Midnight

Midnight

Midnight is sneaking outside
Laying in fields
Picking up bikes
That aren’t owned
And borrowing them
For a while

Midnight is a mirrored drive
Beside a lake
And walking down
Tunnels of thin trees
That have slowly over years
Formed a sort of orange shade

Midnight is telling time
By streetlights
And people out
Wandering the sidewalks
And gawking at lit up
Buildings

Midnight is cold hands
Gripping the steering wheel
And going twenty miles
Per hour over the limit
And not paying any mind
To the law officer kind

Midnight is a touch away
Just a drop in a pond
To dip a toe into
A dark and grittily clean
World unseen beneath
A breathing city

Midnight is tricky
It cannot be captured
And indeed those who
Fall out of touch
Often so desperately
Try to seek its spirit

Midnight is exhausting
Looking at the clock
And realizing it’s too late
To do anything else
But exist in some hysteria
That also has everyone else

Midnight is a dream
An abstract fallacy
Psychedelia of a sort
Not ingested but felt
Walking on the sidewalk
And gawking at buildings

Midnight is omniscient
Like the air we breathe
It is wholly enveloping
As a thin liquid
That is poured over the
World of concrete

Midnight is bubbly
And it drips down
Surfaces of buildings
Its essence flows
In street gutters and
Down storm drains

Midnight is potent
Like a poison taken
At dinner unexpected
When someone hysteric
Dashes glasses of wine
With a fine white powder

Midnight is inoculation
To the day’s mortality
And a letting go of coil
Shuffling in file
To the sound of dozens
Of footsteps under soil

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