The Creation Corner

Backstreets
I
An empty street
met with delirium
and dried blood that stopped
pooling seven paces back,
met with subtle winces
and anger of the embarrassmentand the show must go on,
I must perform
my very best
to make up for my error,
to prove myself,
that I am worthy of such power,
of such prowess
in the streetsthat I observe,
in the near-empty path
of concrete and steel,
mirroring the dull lights of the
haphazardly placed streetlamps
and bright city billboards up above,
an array of neons
cast down to the car close by,
stalking me, calling me to meet
in the alleywayand finally ⎼ a worthy subject
who seems to have similar aims,
and the bloodlust excites more
as I race with my limp
and we clash like two knights
into the depths of the darkness
of the alleyway
and I begin to lose myself
all over again,
the end finally draws near.II
Another night,
another chance
to add to the count
to build the pile of
meaningless losses to the statefor they don’t care
for the atrocities committed
in the dark
as pockets get lined
and others starve
so I stalk the streets in a beat-up,
nameless car
searching for low lifes,
nobodies,
just to fill the margindown the block,
a bloody mess
dazed, swaying along
to the jagged lines of light cast down
onto his pulped face
comes into sight of
the yellowed headlightsa worthy prey,
someone with no worth,
no point or meaning,
an easy target
that I lure into a trap
like a rabbit - too stupid,
too clueless,
to understand
what I aim to do,
as the darkness shelters
any evidence away from
the human eye,
our end comes near.Garden of Spiders
Do you hear the whistle?
It’s so far away in the horizon,
harmonizing with the rain,
loudly thumping away
on the broken glass panes,
meeting the murmur of the spiders,
a sweet clandestine.The garden of Attercoppes,
brought down from the misguidance,
left to erode in elements
to become one with the undergrowth,
and the spiders keep murmuring,
crawling into the eyes
of the dissolving Statuewhere acids aren’t too friendly,
when parts of the Statue falls with a clatter
as the cracks become too full
with the sours of the sky,
the acidic tears
fallen onto the umbrellas,
imperiling fragile leaves,leaving the attercoppe
to scatter into crevices
left over a hundred years,
filling the cracks with mold and algae,
covering the basin of the once glorious
Garden of Attercoppes.