slow fog

My thoughts ooze out
like a slow fog
across a deserted, city street.
Figures emerge, shadowed and furtive

An idea hides next to a garbage can
in the alley
An idea that's reached the bottom

A passing daze screams at the top of her lungs
as the blurry streetlight above her
flickers
and goes out

A muse is mugged and beaten
A breakthrough is shot on sight

But a dark emotion stands in the middle
the cold fog closes around him
a ghost of a lover's hand
He stands still, dark cape breathing
as the rain starts
and memories run down
into cigarette-lined gutters