Polished skin in beaded wet
     lit only by the neon lights outside.
Busy city sounds drowned out by the
  water cascading over his body to the drain.

Tiny droplets, lightly sprayed, catch in his eyelashes,
     so like tears o'er this alabaster face.
Soap bubbles drifting in and out of the
    warm rain spouting from tiled wall.

He dreams of mirrors, reflections hundredfold.
Stopping the flow, stepping into steam;
    its clouds dimly lit and teasing,
cool tendrils defying the storm outside.

Headlights and neon; proclaiming this beer in that bar.
Glaring out of shadows and rain.

Terrycloth towel drags across still-wet skin,
     soaking up liquid crystals of modernization.
Cold air sneaks in, running up the back of his neck;
   A lover's tease? Perchance.
The window is broken again.

Sanctuary in steam and no reflection
Reaching for the unknown and oft' questioned.
Dark music, wordless chant blending through the
    solitude, mixing with the traffic's discordant melody.

Sliding down the wall, blank and unseeing,
   withdrawn to the refuge of self.
Edge of forever.

"If I go crazy, will you still call me Superman?"

Whispers out of place with the melody
winged demons of the mind clinging to the walls,
     threatening to bring it all down to ruins.

Polished flesh clothed in neon’s aura,
   across the street, outside "Jack's Bar: $3 beer"
Drunk yet stone-cold sober,
She knows. Icy rain striking skin.

Quick dash across the street into the building.
Drowned out her voices with liquid fire,
     but kept her mind [walls of steel],
Climbing the stairs three at a time;
     forget the elevator.

The pain drifting down the hall like perfume [smelling of fresh blood]
    carried on the draft from the very window,
and staining the rug.

The door is unlocked; she enters.
   Dropping her coat and bag to the floor,
along with rainsoaked clothing as fanciful dreams,
  scenting the current of human despair.

Nightbright flying demons in neon's colours
Kryptonite of the soul. Human ears hear not a word,
but their eternal clamor.

But the blood, the blood!

He’s already fading away from the light,
into neon’s glaring tones.
Magnified among rain and headlights,
“Top Tattoos” and “Jack’s Bar: $3 beer”

Dissolving, yet, so solid to her chilled flesh.
Invisible wings escort, not sanity,
    but lack thereof,
fully away from the tiled floors [now blood soaked], to the drains,
the jar of traffic, and the shade of neon.
Lingering on wall, face and fogg’d mirror.

“If I go crazy...”