The Darkness Poem by jerome moore

Walking out on the cusp of a darkened heart
The warmth pulls out to the breaking point of the icy river
and I see colorful neon surf crash through the holes in an abandoned factory, almost like the holidays still occupy abandoned places.
The musty scent of frozen pine and chimney smoke hides the fact that the night is quiet.
and I see the blush and tint as if they were on my canvas where i shall place the whites and where the moon accents the darkest of lots.
I let out a moan like I am spiraling dowm the head of a Jazzmans trumpet, the darkness, the darkness.
I come to lines of trees where a snake of white bulbs climbing half way to the canope squeeze the color from my eyes,
and I shiver at the sight of the steel bars standing bold against the glowing parlours, and wonder how they can trap the bitter snakes between their bars.
I walk waiting for a car to backfire
I walk waiting for anything, even a black panther.
I admit I am losing it every step further into the heart of darkness.