Dark Star

I forget that my name is Virgil Yorke.
I forget that I am not a city,
That I am not Vox. I become the streets,
The sky and everything else in between.

We drive in silence the rest of the way,
Joined in mutual hate for our city.

A dark took up residence in my head:
Some unmovable piece of nothingness.

I’m like a dog chasing a car right now.
Hell if I know why, but I’d keep running
Forever to know why you burn so bright.

Their calling voices rise to a climax,
Become a wordless rush of noise instead:
The city’s collective accusation
Of dissatisfaction, howling for more.