How scraped these streets are tonight.
These streets are exhausted from the exertion and pain.
How scratched is the skin of pavements,
from all the clapperclawing of last days.
How melancholic is the dusk of the days
set in fire
when the red charcoal recoil in its ashes
like the turtle neck in this shell.
Grey like twilight, like metal,
like ashes and, asphalts.
like molten metal that cools.
These streets
these furnace of inferno,
this molten steel sword,
tempered in the night
quenched in the dark algid scabbard.
