but some nights his face will blacken / his eyes, once bright with wit, will blink

most nights he stands there with a cigar offering wry commentary on the day’s events like a little guru with nothing better to do than belittle the little kings no one really listens to what he says he takes his place among the stars his cigar light lighting the chrome of cars and a thousand other bone-shadowed ways

but some nights his face will blacken his eyes, once bright with wit, will blink and the night of smoke will shroud his smile. and what was whitely lit is now defiled the heart of bright streets will darkly sink and shiver til the light will crawl back in