DX bass runs; a gated snare and synth-brass cue the chase.
City wind flips the coat hem sideways.
Pocket LEDs go dark—unread on purpose.
Crosswalk static becomes my springboard.
I snip the hesitation wire between my fingers.
Breathing locks to eighth-note rails.
Rhythm infiltrates the pulse supply.
I fold a fractured atlas to a square,
Slip past the rim of night on an offbeat.
Night’s trigger sits center-mass, armed and vivid.
Glass towers scatter sparks along my path.
I wear an engine where tailwinds should be,
Lonely but faster, torque stitched to bone.
No backward glance—progress accepts rough edges.
Under the viaduct, brake lights flow like a river.
Late wishes run on clocks that don’t exist.
Abandoned complaints steam off the asphalt,
One stubborn heartbeat remains as evidence.
Wind shear counts the bars out loud.
Signals tremble between twin greens.
Your absence refines into propellant,
Contours print darker, sharper, clean.
Trigger the night at the shadow of yesterday.
Staccato synths lance straight up the spine.
Shards of ache spray across the mirrors—horizon clears.
I overwrite the route at my own velocity.
Drop to half-time; an FM lead cries.
Tom flurries rebound the dark like code.
The trigger of night snaps light in the eardrums.
A slapping low end drags every stride forward.
Truer than drafts I never sent—
Footfall and salt map the route in heat.
No terminus here; a moving start line holds.
Arpeggios recede to skyline dots; the city hits reset.
