this town always felt like a prison

even though there’s front yards, back yards

And grass separating the buildings

A mosquito on my arm

Flip phones and text messages

“Don’t forget to buy fake butter”

Resonance

An idea that rings true

Something that causes something else to break

An elevator to catch between floors

We were smoking Jazz in Brooklyn

Starbucks cups don’t clink at cheers

And it was taxi cabs that filled our years

I stand staring at these white washed walls

Feeling like a white washed me

A work of art that ceased to be

What’s this engineered existence?

As if science built it first

We learned to add the numbers

And mix sulfur with our rubber

To manipulate the light

To see beauty everywhere

To create technicolor gurus

Consoling us when we can’t place

A finger on this elusive missing thing