5-7-5 (take two-hundred-and-thirty-nine : shadows)

the shadow bleeds black
blood seeping across the floor
darkness scarring light

Bogarting

The streetlamps
pool their glances
on the rain beaten streets
yellowed stepping stones
the way ahead filled
with spotlights on the soundstage
of untrodden morning

I pull my collar
and become hardboiled
a remnant of pulp filled
mid century memory
Marlowe with a smart phone
heading for the underground
with a noir sensibility
you could cut with a broken bottle