alone in a nighttime cityscape (previously "a requiem for synecdoche')

i walk aimlessly,
through spaces which,
although not occupied by buildings,
are filled, nonetheless.


amber lights
from tall, lanky lamp posts;


tired engines bubbling past, while
taillights trail a half-second behind;


hazy silhouettes of slim, steel staircases
cast by dim neon lights;


traces of faint cigarette smoke
tainted by the frigid, brooding autumn breeze.


as i look up at the indigo sky, that's when i realize
i will never feel more at home with this
luminous, atmospheric, post-industrial labyrinth
keeping me company;

but
at the same time,
never could i feel so...