I gaze in confused wonder, as
I have no sense of modern style
I hear a million breathing bodies pass beneath my balcony
they epitomize the very image I have a lack of taste buds to percept
is this really my world?
how am I here, a separate circulatory system,
in this city in constant celebration
I am soberly negligent beyond an addict's absentmindedness
yet I will never accept forgiveness
no wonder I have relaxed into certain obscurity
and the mere thought of affiliation commences an anxious shudder
I am merely an insignificant wire sending electric currents along
in society's engine
filling in the holes and gaps
a good functioning member of modern civilization...
just not the most stylish, or
acceptably motivated.
what tragedies and treasures this city holds captive to its streets.
what loathing within it's lovers...
what love within it's loathed.
my steps fall on the same concrete slabs, stumble on the same stones,
the same pollutants stain my lungs... our lungs.
I know not what lingers and plagues their (un)perplexed minds,
I only know my own lethargic literature, escaping thick and sluggish,
a weight that flutters and hovers like a hummingbird,
yet sinks into the bedrock, impressed upon tectonic plates
awaiting the earth to quake...
my calm foundation to break, and
release the molten magic of soulful expression
through dead letters, row on row
in the graveyard of language.
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