Drifting without rhyme-well, it's a reason-  
through this neon galaxy reflecting  
fluctuating hues of changing magnitudes  
those spinning worlds unto themselves orbited  
by satellite wannabes whose frenetic  
levity and laughable gravity drive  
me out to where the cosmopolitan core  
is but a faint pink glow of events along  
the eastern horizon while skipping off rims  
of dark memories threatening to suck me  
in as I listen to the music of the  
discs passing faint lights of homes set on distant  
hills and out beyond convenient oases  
dispensing snacks and gas and knick knacks to where  
only the faintest glimmers are to be found of  
headlights comet tail wispy in the eyes of  
raccoon and cat, dog and deer, opossum and perhaps  
something other if could but tell what stirs dank  
nape hairs, bleeds perspiration through a tight two-  
handed clutch upon the wheel as the car creeps  
through a turnaround then picks up speed as I  
return to the center of my current  
universe, a collision of dreams with the  
uneasy city's slumber, and wary hope  
entropy is not all it's cracked up to be 

Copyright 2000, Royce Sykes 

Royce Sykes lives in the Central West End of St. Louis, MO USA,  a friend of crows (who have chased away the pigeons) and cats (who have a fine appreciation for shrimp smuggled to them from oriental restaurant buffets). The panhandlers in the area know him affectionately as "Hey, you!"  His poetry has appeared in Ygdrasil, 2 River View, Poetry Magazine (online), Snakeskin, and Liberty Grove.