Near constellations usurp a further nova across a firefly of avenues
That stretch beyond the appetite for rebellious isolation.
Where they congregate to be lonely together, with friends too near for comfort.
The nation forged on the flipside of a griddle holds another loneliness
Sitting at another table.
Between incandescence in the nearness of neon the tuned string of the horizon
Beckons to everyman in his turn the sultry news of his regret
When the levelling of equals brings all equally to black or white.
Running a parallel line of who guides who across eyeless macadam
Drifting to a gutter where the stones shed their moss.