Orange sprays on top stone
blended though night's greys.
Street lights peer misty-eyed;
statued hydrants dissolve.
Every object transformed,
forgetful of daytime utility:
signals turn the wind
and roadways hold the map,
monuments of the dead.
Where have their users gone?
--Fled off day-to-day reality
to dreams, or fidgiting, tossing,
dreading tommorow's restless,
unerving marching,
with a deep-seated want to ruin
these the waiting monuments.
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