Issue 10 - Chris Hardy - Nightfall

in the white tile and neon light of the tunnels,

I offer a half-hearted temptation to my fate.


To see if I can still do it,

reel a thread of air into my lungs

and climb one hundred and ninety three steps.


I come out into crowds that surge half-drunk,

half-naked, that’s how they look to me

escaping from the underworld.


I prefer it here in this roofless labyrinth

where strangers run from the minotaur

that roars and taunts down at the bottom of the stairs.


A 747 dives at the black sails

that rising from the horizon hide

the suicide of the sun by drowning.

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