I walk alleys and avenues of broken roads.
Black tops eroded from years of punishing
Rainfall, passerbys and time.

After a hard rain, shallow mirrors open up,
Revealing an unyielding world on its head.

It seems, as I walk amidst the distinguished,
Cracks, chips and pebbles that this moment,
Both real and a memory is everlasting.

Overcast, both dismal and hopeful, I read
Between the skylines of the upsidedown.

I breath in this parallel, I write it all down,
A collection of neverhaves.

A creation that is mine for the making, or
For the taking, should I wish.

My roots aren't here
They never were
I planted some crops
But they were imported
An ideal situation this land may be
To the adaptable, changing and innovative breeds
It is habitable to the natives and hybrids that are able to flourish
But me, my roots come from a different tree
They belong somewhere else
They always have
I can survive in new elements
But only with proper care and chemicals
The artificial adaptations eventually take their wear
And usually from the inside out
Without the natural nourishment I whither
So as thankful as I am for a land that harvested growth
It is essential to my survival that I find my proper home