Glowing under the street-light,
and condensing into the sideways
is more streetlight.
Some detached and deconstructed
bits of light,
the sad tones of Nazi Lampshade,
slipping through the radiantly polluted
night air and into
to the curbside,
where one might stand catching
smiles and raindrops,
out of time and cheap speed
and I might need batteries
And a moment of clarity, and
a raindrop caught in the streetlight:
as if the drip of some bloody libations
brought that eagle I saw, aimless,
digging in the dense mud,
days away from right now.
But what did that mean?