Tiny ancient parks rusting on the cracked briske cement,

with winds whistling off kids’ old tears of depression.

The howl of my neighbor’s beast awakening every inch of the distance.

An empty room next door, shivering through gloom.

Nothing but an elderly clock ticking along the wasted time.

Squishy apartments silenced by black crows, cawing among the garbage scattered along the ground of the people's estate.

Subways zooming among the crowds of Russians blabbing at each other, rushing through slick doorways into trashed metros.

The scent of charred crepe ashes, black on the stove. A symbol of gloom.

Taxi drivers yelping a ton taking the protracted route to sites of empire.

Lazy cousins skipping the phone’s ring. Important calls gone out the window into the abandoned memory cloud.