Eulogy of neon light, of its
rent shadows all spent in toil for
tin tinted smiles.  Their rusted
bones splayed against factory
walls, their open walls bombed
burnt or eyes cracked thin. These
shades of pasts lost in transit
fill the carrion of that old train station.
The ruin, falling at time, held
together with a fake glass face,
from ashes it will rise again.
A sea pregnant of shadows with
Escape abandoned and only
the thoroughfair of ashy pavement
on the bodies born from our city.
A tiny stream of pavement of
a scroll too charged whose motto
I invoke of that dear strait:
Speramus meliora; resurget cineribus.


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