No rest under the city light. The orange gloom
envelops casting shadow. Devils
are made from us all and in this way
we are equal. Midnight marauders
they cross paths, knowing there is no remedy
for the itch, knowing that the path
on which they tread leads to a place that is
all too familiar, knowing that knowing
means nothing at all, knowing there is
nothing in knowing this.
I stop and ask why must I roam these streets
of dead-end lines which never meet.
I find no satisfaction
Merely further suggestion
Under these skies there is no vantage point,
Weathered minds can’t escape this metropolis.
No peace for the wandering, no
consolation for the nights nomadic.
I tried to see myself under a different light
– It was fallacy. Packed up, wasted, flawed
but serene I continued on my way.
No answers at the bottom of that bottle.
There is no sleep under the city lights.
The orange gloom envelops casting shadow
and devils are made from us all.
Joel White is chief co-ordinator of the M20 Collective. Watch this space for more of his words…