Zaragoza

The wind sighs dissatisfied past my ear. Though others are cut quick to the bone by her cruel lash she can find no purchase on me. A cold flame burns bright blue in me propelling every limb with rigid calculation. The elements assail me but I am devoid of thought and through sacred stillness my organism moves undaunted by mundane obstacles.
There are few who at this hour dare to taunt the city. She shines bright, a cemetery of broken dreams scattered before us like pearls cast before swine. I am affected and some might even say afflicted. Though some claimed that misery seeks company the true masochist seeks his punishment alone. At every bright doorstep opportunity beckons me with her intricate veil but I am too old fashioned and far to wounded to respond to her request.
My thoughts are as lead, heavy and poisoning my steps. My mouth tastes of the kiss of whiskey and my shirt smells like a carton, unfiltered. My fists are balled tight protecting the tips of my fingers, which have now become numbed. My eyes are sharp though my ears have been stunted by years of blaring television. Effortlessly I map my surroundings while lost in transient dream.
I beat out an awkward rhythm against the sidewalk, the type of swagger when you’re a few cups deep and a couple joints short. There are few to witness my ugly ducklings walk save for the prostitute on the corner who calls me handsome as though she and I were well-acquainted friends. But she is nothing but flesh bound to bone, a living reminder to our carnal limitations, her young defiled body a testament to an uncaring deity.