Strangely arid in the grime.
We converse with matte gems over ether.

Be watchful. The depravity is over.
Strange and murky over the dreamscape.

We battle comely flames about the towers.
Awake! The night felt good.
We are sinning before the towers.
I see sinning sounds behind the earth.

I flinch! The sin is vanishing
Trusting, seeking
where the light comes from.
A phone ringing somewhere.

From what virtue
our neighbours
leave their home
in a different light.


- ", one of them, with a pipe stem, prods you."