Written on drugs... maybe?

In the down town evening
The epileptic night seizes
city sounds strangle into silence
the sharp buzz snaps
lights on streaming advertisements
blink, not to be perceived
as gawkers and onlookers
planted in stone
cease mid-sentence
between the plastic realities
bubbling up only to burst
the touch screen implants
as sylvan transplants
lift their feet sidewalk weary feet
just above gravity and halt
The unctuous streets
slide away…
The wrought iron sky
ratchets down, click… click… click
The match head stars
flicker in an inchoate
fit***  * *** **
The epileptic night bites its tongue
flashes of furious motion, slash
the frozen hustle and bustle
that allows the city’s synapses
to stabilize. Balance is temporary.   
The horns honk deadly dares
as heels clack on the cured cement
The pause is brief
The cityscape in repose
awakens in an instant
and just as one experiences apoplexy
it escapes, only to infiltrate
another. It never ends
There’s not enough Ativan
for everyone downtown.