To the point of absence

The evening recites to me
its essentiality,everday
it breaks my mood to remember things
that made impunity our only culture
I fear waking to the same purpose,
the unkown to emerge and seem familiar
In a misty corner of the street
my heart is slurred by the expression i carry
I see people with torches flashing through their pants
and their sleeves buttoned to their necks
i see people with the moon around their neck
and a whole lot of the sky to run around with it
Their is little honour,there is little honour i say
The lights outside a brothel
count down their own days to doom
as they fail to look away yet not wanting to
In a way every man circles himself to a point
of absence,death