The city streets are heavy
and hold me down these old ways
Gravity thick as basements, the roads lined with streetcar veins
cracking with traffic in the three am narcotic glow
I follow the link of street lights
safe in their unendingness
silencing the fear of what lies around corners
Someone’s phantom dream, maybe my own.
At the end of all the boulevards, where the donut shops are closed
only silence and distant headlights waiting
The stillness is long-legged and brash
filtering through the thin and distant radio
leaking rooms of memory...and touches...
and fantasies that will stalk me back
I am seeking the fragments
of my ongoing, half true story
among those knit to me by this gravity
Story and rumour, what a city is built of
Not just this one, but every brother sister place
holding me home to weighted down memories
close and rutted like old scars
able to fade but not disappear
mimicking potholes of time and inertia
No comments:
Post a Comment