fringe of shadows
living in the shadows, walking the edges of life
always on the fringe—
where neon fizzles out to rain
and names wear thin like tickets in a coat pocket.
I learn the grammar of alleys,
how silence conjugates,
how a siren bends distance into wire.
I am the blur between frame and film,
the click before the shutter commits,
a heartbeat held like a match in wind.
Some nights the city forgets its face
and I borrow it—
briefly bright in a window,
gone at the turn.
If there’s a center, it keeps its own weather.
I keep the margins:
small fires, soft exits,
a map drawn in pencil,
eraser-smudged, still leading me home.
