Urban

Simon MacCulloch

The night beneath the streets is where the alligators squirm

Too fat to fit the tunnels the discarded hatchlings swam

The paving stones are buckling from the pressure as they worm

And dreams are overflowing where their rumbling bellies jam.

The night beyond the lamps is full of tensely flapping wings

The leather-flexing pinions of the clutching mutant bats

Expelled from chimneys like cigars whose filth puffs up in rings

To wed the boiling clouds to vapoured venom of the vats.

The night between the stars is where the timid angels peer

Afraid to spread their feathers now that God has gone to sleep

The constellations shivering with the onset of their fear

Of hints of what is hidden in the hells in which they peep.

The night behind my eyes is where the lonely stranger prowls

To gather in the harvest of his paranoia’s sowing

The sewer city universe reverberates his howls

Through alleys where the embers of his cindery soul lie glowing.