Full moon over Brooklyn

Full moon over Brooklyn
graywhite marbleclouds and
the moon like a spotlight in the dark,
like a stage setting of the night.
Lights like dreams of young girls
and black clouds like razorblades
of reality.
Blurred milky glow of the fullmoon,
a blast furnace of the night.
Vague contours,
black roofs on a pale livid blue,
like a shimmering spray above
dark rugged cliffs.
In between there are little scenes
illuminated in nightwhite like
nightly sets of a Film Noir.
Amber taxis flashing by
like a short nervous grin of the city.
The street in front of me is loosing itself
in the distance of darkness
and every side street could be a detour
into another life.
We are right in the middle of making history,
our hearts in the now and our views forward-turned.
If thoughts pass by like nightly shadows,
only the sum of our daily deeds is like little
bridges into our unwritten future.
One block away a howling train is
carrying it’s silent load to their homes.
The screaming lights of the bars
are far too much!
The city has put on too much rouge, I think,
as I keep on drifting through the night.