Jaundiced City Nights

The night was mine once
but the city took it away
and washed it in a phosphorescent orange
that seeps in through the cracks in the blinds
and on the backs of the roaches.

And my silence,
that anthem of my peaceful solitude,
that too belonged to me.
But now we share it
as the sound of the distance and the hatred
that grows between us.

Looking around from the creaky balcony
where I go to escape you
I catch the last moments
of a generation.

The eerie glow of their cellphones
cast green shadows.
I listen, anticipating a ghost story
or some dreamy reflection

but all they do is shrug, sigh,
and mumble "whatever"
as they type their suicide texts

ttyl, cruel world.

I drink to everyone of them.
I raise my glass to every glint
of their dead eyes
grumbling Cheers to each.

And the more I drink
the more this balcony railing resembles
the bars of a penitentiary
and this apartment complex,
a panopticon.

"Lights out!" shouts the Warden who is never seen.
but he can't seem to find the switch.

Unemplyment

Time to shave this beard, this mark of unemployment, and get off the floor where I've spent most of the month. Time to put my tongue back in my skull and wake up.
If I still had friends, they'd say "Wow, Lizard, it's good to see you sober.  We're proud of you"
and I'd fail to mention that my vices only ended when I ran out of money.

How much time has passed?  A week?  A year?  And how much more is left?

Fast Loris, my lover, sits in the darkness of our modest apartment staring at me and wishing I were someone else.  I stand in front of the bathroom mirror doing the same.

"Have you heard back from anyone yet?" she asks, masking the bitterness well.

I don't answer.  I haven't spoken in so long that my lips have crusted shut.