Beauty stuck in the throat, like a throttled moon
Vanguarding over the cut-out cityscape.
Summed in vastness, put to the feet, over and over
On pavement, down alleys, along railroad tracks,
Passing through railway yards, soliciting abandoned fields.
Ringing along the barbwire fences, and seeing graffiti hold its
Breath as the city curls up into dusk, into dark, blinks
Over the edge of stars.
A timelessness between time, a door where there is no proof.
Such beauty could pinch together an event horizon.
These solitary meanderings of star-stuffed pockets.