Outside the North Lane (a short poem)

I hear them...those that you can't or won't listen to. We smile in the glistening spoon of night as the moon slings low. The light on the street, the shocked face of those that stroll on by. The hat makes you nod in false recoginiton, and it's then that you see the gleam in our eyes. We don't say anything, nor do we falter...that burger smells much better than your alternative. Belly full, mind on edge, we wander. In the midst of night the mentors echo....I'm sure you don't know what I mean. Try, try to understand this is a magic man! As that rings out in our head...well can you blame us? Once we lose our instrument...well now this becomes simple. Arg, we say into the wind. Feelings...I have some, but sometimes I wonder or contemplate "To what end?"