Clayton Burkhart adopts the view of an anonymous wanderer in this mythic city and speaks of absence and loss against a backdrop of steel, stone, concrete, and neon. It is a story of love and redemption after the rain falls, when the damp sidewalks take on the saturated colors of the night. Down hereon empty avenues at 2 amwhere sleep is impossibleand the meter is always runningevery siren is for youstretching out into blacknessof so many lost tomorrowshere where allthe young lionseat up the sidewalkswith fierce devouring stridesand the wolves regroupbefore making their wayuptown once againleaping from lane to laneat every outstretched armyellow fur gleamingtrying to fill an insatiableemptiness insidesome strange kinshipin our parallel solitudestime will not be deniedthe only solutionis to keep moving.
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