Nyarlathotep Rides A Bike

Riding at night where I belong
in the drizzly midnight air.
The refinery towers shoot their flames high to be bent by the soft devil wind.
The overcast sky reflects pulsing orange from across the river.
A distant, quiet industrial holacaust.
Tonight no stars reflect in the oil slicked rain puddles
dotting the empty streets like black amoebas.
Out there, somewhere
Someone is screaming for their life.