Nightly Pulse.
I walk—
yeah walk sluggishly—through the city’s bloodstreams,
where night sweats slow
and hangs in the air
like half-remembered dreams.
Dew drops—
lazy, electric—
cling to railings, windows, eyelids of buildings,
then slip…
slide…
fall like tired thoughts
into streets that haven’t decided
if they’re asleep or just pretending.
A worker—one of the last—
leans into the wheel,
eyes blinking in rhythm with the signal,
praying—not to God—
but to the traffic light - >Please soon be green.
In the rearview mirror— A flash—
some hungry sign screams:
BUY 3 GET 1 FREE
like salvation comes in multiples,
like desire’s a discount bin -
disappears into the foggy horizon.
Then—
the night cracks open.
It breathes.
It hums.
It moves in hips and laughter and cheap beer.
Kids—no, not kids—
curious alley cats - nightly creatures with spring in their veins—
they rise up,
thirsty for something they won’t name,
dancing like gravity forgot them
under neon halos
flickering
like artificial constellations.
Filled with Spring
With Love—
or something dressed like it—
They let a daring wind passes between them
in glances,
in kisses,
in the space between the seductive beats.
And me—
still walking,
just watching, remembering —
this vibrating youngly pulse,
as i counting the seconds
Seeing wrinkles in the morning rain puddles,
#TonyLangmach 2026







