End of the Ride

Part of a recovered collection of print-outs, pieces that seemed lost to a dead hard disk.

Through a window onto
another city street
surveyed by my reflection
thought traffic jam.

This is where I am
just another soul taxi
driver blind
a bored stranger
riding in the back
of my mind.

My eyes track past neon lures
now mesmerised by the stars
light travelling while time slept
from when Christ was but
an immaculate concept.

Night's perspiration
on the windows
Light glowing in the belly
of each raindrop
life a thousand tiny tv's
too far away to be real life.

A glare of inspiration
from a passing cab
Turn back
to the front page
in my hand.

Letters fade to grey
each frozen image
captured
refracted and
sparkling
down my face.

I think I'll get out and walk.