Midnight Chaser
(Life In The Small Hours)

Hobgoblin in the gutter under canopy of midnight,
magic brew of muti without rein.
Shadowy figure, darting half-light denizen.
Spine chilling  droplets slither 
down drains, rusty copper  mouthwash at the edge of jagged chutes.
Eerie urban soundscape in a
sneeze  or smothered cough.
The drone of vagrant motors probe the ink-black abyss.
Youthful laughter echoes over back streets as nearby lamp posts cast their bloodshot rays.
Night owls chinwag over Onion Bhaji, their raucous babble buried in a saffron whiff.
Strains of ragtime jazz and sleek arpeggios,
shrine or vinyl monument in train.
Hobo whistling on a lonely pier.
Urban jungle cast-off,
Burakumin patsy in high dudgeon.
Spooky timelines relish every moment of suspense,
swallowing  the hush with ghoulish glee.
Quasimodo bell ring on a broomstick, setter of alarm and wanton panic.
City center wall clock twiddles on its hourly thumb, scene shifter in an  endless play,
nocturnal dialogue without a script,
waiting for the  dawn to take it’s baton.

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