City Noir

The caged birds of unrealized dreams
hang heavy from steel and glass skies
stooping the walk of pedestrians.

They think it’s a heavy rain but 
it’s their anodized desire fracturing 
into  a thousand feminines/masculines
in  the windows all around them.

Their noir has orange hair sirens with 
Klint faces blowing gray smoke, or the 
Private Dick who lives on past glances

through the torn blush of curtains,
the forward tilt of the black umbrella
that blocks the stained shadows behind.