Upon a sweet zephyr
     whirled a scent,
something so familiar
   midst that breeze,
'twas like warm apple pie
   sitting amid a windowsill
wafting delectable
   reminiscence of long ago,
children's laughter
   full of caramel & pepper,
petunias, summer rain
      and hot cayenne spice
all delightfully blissed
    in a blast of fragrant air's
momentously fresh nostalgia

The sloppy rain slips and slides down the fogged-up windows,
and this lets me know that I am not as small as I think I am.
In a city of three million plus, I feel like the soul of a nation,
even though I'm just a twenty-one year-old piece of plastic, drinking a hipster beer.

The waitress has frizzy hair and oily skin.
She's holding in late-night infomercials and missed ballet recitals, behind her words.
She looks at my luggage and asks where I came from or where I'm going,
and I tell her that the fun thing is that I have no idea where I'm going --
and that I still haven't decided where I've came from.

This city allows new-found anonymity, and I want that to be my cause.
With each passing glance, I know they don't see me, and, to me, that's the slumber-kissed throat-slit I've always dreamt of...

...the streets play music that I only hear -- and I know that's not fair, but I don't care.

And the homeless represent the bowels of the city.
And the businessmen are the ghost-filled engine.
And the middle class is the defense-mechanism I always wanted for Christmas.
And I am the empty delusion, desperately seeking a new pollution.

Everyone seems to be talking about this thing they lost.
It made their world
It made them change
It made them live
It made them shine....

I think it was love.

I wonder what that feels like....

I was the, “Monster,”
With all but one
Concern
Upon my tongue –
Her and imagination wrought
Honey.

I was the, “Monster,”

Who’d only one
Plight
Come 5:00 A.M. –
Flight and ensuing chasm christened,
“Regret.”

I was the, “Monster,”

Where all but one
Finger’d
Grasp my throat –
Phantasms of someone she’d met once
Before.

I was the, “Monster,”

When it wouldn’t work
Again
And again and again –
Sacred and scared, I’d never answer,
Faint and, “knock.”

I am the, “Monster.”

There's this poet who makes me smile
We are still sort of like strangers
I don't know his smile
Or the sound of his laugh
But I do know a simple hello in my inbox can brighten my day
It may not mean much to you
But I can't remember the last time I smiled
And my eyes smiled as well