Night Poem by Patrick Fleskes

Howls at the distance,

Answered by that naked canine bark,

Catching up, displacing, retracing the lonely space,

A snide remark,

The sound dries up and scabs over,

In silence, puddles glimmer,

Throw back the image,

Like an outfielder,

And streetlights pull illusion and the street,

Down 3-point perspective's vision,

Some of many manifestations of night,

Tis now all now in sleep,

And those who don't, linger on in the stillness,

Follow, recollect the echo project, by them howls,

Houses breathe a soft, rattlesnake grit song,

Holding captive, the stale noiselessness of the streets,

Between,

Dead twilight slumber,

A Shock or nauseating burst,

Would supplant all else.



All is veiled in black,

'cept the general idea of objects,

A world of silhouettes, and ill-defined actions,

Left to minds conception, fill in the blank (like grade-school children)

Lot of vicious, scathing dark lines attack,

The mind's perceptual eye,

Intermingling with the flickering white,

Cast down from the streetlights,

Mocking the dualistic division,

Of space and time,

All of times events meeting time's divide,

A well-to-know scientist could map this out, if he had the time.



Here,

Not a fear nor passion is unaccounted for,

All sitting in silence bare,

The stillness of a refined purple atmospheric hue,

occupying the space between the pale blue moon,

In nocturne's silk blanket,

The wind's glided upon the space,

Filling it's essence with pillow-like existence.