Rain hits the pavement

like millions of tiny diamonds

falling from the sky

and bouncing in the reflected light

of a digital city.


The smells of coffee and artificial pine

leak out from open doors

of brightly lit shops

with painted windows.


Ghosts huddle in shadows,

tucked between buildings

like old boxes between furniture

in a spare room.


Holiday music invades the streets

in short, offbeat bursts,

as customers rush in and out,

frantically emptying their wallets.


Cars roll by

in a slow and halting gloom–

stop, wait, roll three feet, stop,

as their drivers curse the world

and its banality.


There used to be something else here,

something important,

something underneath it all.

It has faded,

but still teases the edges of my memory.


I’m afraid,

because I’ve forgotten its name,

and without that

it will die,

and somehow,

so will we.




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