When we first entered the city,
the bright lights of the high windows and
the blinding smile of the moon blocking clock tower
caught us in a hazy tractor beam, pulling

our slack jaws into it's heart where
we would have been dispersed among the
arteries and disseminated through the veins,
becoming circuited ghosts along

the town's oiled haunts, if it
hadn't been for the lead scout who
sniffed the sulfur under the manholes
and broke our automatic march

with a firm fist held high above his
head. Halted just beyond the
glow of the proud radiation,
our war-band huddled, slapping brain

together like panicked high-fives
until some resolve was found within
the bruised channels. Breaking into
symmetrical pairs, we broke out

of our retreat and penetrated through
avenues less used whose absolute
darkness forced our eyes green. Their
job market's discards clung along

the crumbling bricks that line the
ignored alleys, sightlessly scraping the
molded cobbles for detrital nourishment,
their hands transformed to gnarled

trowels that smoothed the dying
footpath as they search, doubtlessly
their only contribution to
the swelling city.

Slinking under splintered fences
on soiled bellies, we probed the
perimeter with cautious scrutiny,
hoping to sneak in under few surprises.

My shivering partner and I scaled
slummed tenement hovels, hurdling
their roofs until we had sniper sights
over the town square.

Tanned perfections fitting together ribcages
like symbiotic teeth-grinding spread
over the meeting streets in visceral
mammality, hedonism too shameful

for my blushing battle buddy.
Drums pounding over unintelligible
encouragement rattled our foothold
as we soaked in the sanctioned sins.

We are the last remaining defenders
of the State of Rational Comfort,
and despite our best efforts, our
invitations must have been revoked.

Assuming safety, we grappled down a
fleeing fire-escape that dangled from
the ancient bricks like quaking
Babylonian shrubs.

As we hit the floor, the overflowing
light forced our eyes back to bare,
just in time to be intercepted by
four fashionable stragglers who

seemed open to interlopers, sweeping
us into their wake where we rode leisurely
through barstool barricades, struggling
lovers, singing gypsies who couldn't

find a hand, car-less speedsters in
search of anxiety releases, sharp turned
addicts with a new way to score, hip
guided missiles that never missed

their marks, and social honor students
who celebrated the hardest as the lining
of the vibrant city's core. We were brought
to rest at the heart of debauchery, my

partner and I back to back in shared trembles.
Our necks followed a collective crane
toward the giant time dial that looked over
everything like heaven and expected our attention.

After brief naked focus, a ledge appeared
below the clock's face where the
Keeper of the Key to Success was
standing, basking in his booming bounty.

The mass roared crazed praises up toward
his open arms and he thanked them
with a double heil goodbye just before
disappearing under the midnight strike.

And that was when the second half of
our quartet came flying past us on the
backs of swift machines, each fittingly
lapped by identical vixens, snickering

their broken vows as they barely
missed murder while weaving through
the tight human mazes. How did our
comrades succumb so capriciously?

Their badges of dedication were
pawned for complete supplication
to the hedonistic creed, a small price
to devour your own soul, I suppose.

I searched my partners terrified eyes
where I found a vacancy for direction,
so I made a generous offer and he followed
my hastened rationality through the

propelling elbows and into a steaming
manhole hoping a battle with hell's
stink would provide more survival
than complete absorption by the dancing

devils above ground. Through lava
flowing sewers, we shuffled shoulder
to shoulder down a small gutter
against the wall, shielding ourselves

from the heat with wince hiding
forearms until we finally reached
the cool sludge that flows into our
distant village, and followed its slow

babble to your majesty's doorstep.
and sirs, even our minor sacrifice
should be enough to prove that city
is lost to us, a worthless tour that

should be stricken from our memory.
We are much more suited nestled
in our cool caves, away from the
confusion of constant light and

That belching exhaust that seemed
to rise from nowhere. Please lords,
keep us safe from the foreign torments,
and kill the campaign for potential expansion.

With my trials over, I plead to remain
a farmer, a hand for the cycle's mill,
happy with the dirt that was dealt me,
therefore I have no need for a new

tract of land, and there is nothing that
could convince me otherwise.

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