Thursday, August 9, 2012

twenty four

I feel the streets of the city in me:
spreading throughout my body like winding veins.
my ribs are the many bridges that cross over the flowing river of
pulsing life
inside of me.
the quiet nights and the mysterious darkness of the city
is what happens when
I cover my eyes
with my hands.
I'm not wanting to see the sun.
the filthy heart of the city is as dark as
the dirty beggars on the deserted corners are but voices coming from
I'm begging for affection.
for comfort.
I am this city.
this city is apart of me:
with its coffee shops
and museums
and dingy clubs
and public parks.
all of these places people go to
to find themselves.
the street singers.
the lights of the valley.
the mountain sunsets.
I am this city.
this city is a part of me.

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