Fifty years ago, the future came,
built in concrete, tile, and bright lights,
underground station, undergirding the fame
of this city, adding to its manifold sights.

Now the future’s a place that smells of stale beer,
barely lit by futuristic lamps in disrepair,
wallpapered in graffiti, strewn with gear
of the pale homeless who’ve made this their lair.

They, like this chipped, grimy, forsaken place
are left in the dust of our dreams’ mercury pace.

I'm in my feelings
shutting down
soon i just have to wear a sign that says
OUT OF ORDER

There's oak
there's main
there's 1st and second
and so many more
as i watch them fly by
i wonder when they will stop moveing
then i remember they already did
It me I'm the on that keeps moveing
i keep loosing
i keep bruising
i try to open the door
and say no more
told them to stop
stop stop stop  
finally as
I'm yelling
and crying
and hurting
they stop the car but they still wont let me out
so know i sit and stare at  all the street signs
begging to be let out

The fish are frozen in their mirror.
I'm sorry.
I didn't mean to.
I dreamed them into the world.

Better to lay your spirit low.
Don't upset the ones who like you quiet.
And when your spirit freezes on the window screen,
The birds will watch the frost softly fall off into the snow.

I heard a poem the other day, a line has haunted me for days.

"I want to be loved not because I'm the antidote to your loneliness, but because your loneliness runs parallel to mine." -Whitney Hanson.