Sonnet 1 Poem by Jacob Liddy

His compartment was so still in the night.
The sound of automobiles; tires speak to
pavement in constant drone. The electric fight
of the fan can't mute screaming red and blue.

The Fading moans of sirens like stark ghosts.
Shadows cast by street-lamps incite the wall
to host figures dancing mad and morose,
feigning to steal his soul, halved by the fall.

Memories rise from the pale, hanging smoke,
curling and twisting toward the ceiling,
to the sleeper above. He hears him choke
on insane dreams, into madness reeling.