Reykjavik

A poem about the city I live in.

Fairly fucked up verona

smoky city by the sea

throbbing pulse of night 

quickens

thick, inky

blackness

replacing 

daylit fancies. 

Night washes over the land

bruising it purple

bathing snow-capped mountains

in tinted hues. 

Music begins

intricate dance of night 

commencing.

I own these streets as I never owned any before

solitary pacing

searching

yearning 

on dirty wet pavement.

I am no angel

crossing 

figures emerging from bars

spilling their contents

onto the streets 

of vomit-spattered sidewalks

and piss-soaked alleyways.

Bleary-eyed love 

wanders these streets

warm embraces

mixed with gin

topped off with loneliness.  

We all seek 

comfort in arms

longing to hold

aching to feel

something 

on a night that bleeds uncertainty.

Reviews

[Crow]

I enjoyed the pace as I was transported by the imagery of your literary guidance.

I truly enjoyed the journey.

[vido.]

the set up of your poem, the way you chose to carry your words, is brilliant. intriguing from the very first line as the plot grows thicker, great write!