Evening in Amsterdam

Amsterdam's trams
rattle to a halt. With a
slow stop and hiss,
the kiss of brake-block
on steel

In the town, they clatter
ever upwards,
where central station, eyes the
dark canal,
whose murky depths echo
the sparks of neon;
proclaiming
decadance,
the smoky hell

of cafe's choked
with marijuana musings,
reverie of roamers
on the road.
Sharing peace-pipes, lighting
bowls of heady, herbal dreams.
Burn narcotics
into greedy young lungs.
The thick of fumes
through teenaged spirit streams.

The bar's alive, inside
(the freezing evening,
has chilled the revellers,
struck them cold to heart)
The liquid gold, slides and
fires the belly's furnace,
spreads red and smiles
across young faces.

Of all places
This is a patchwork;
Concrete sewn and seamed with
waterways.
Islands of pleasure
knitted together,
and laced with
long and lazy
leisure days.