All the brass of the knocked over train
The highway beacon: a fast food sign.
Clean and ***** bathrooms and outlet malls.
Drop me anywhere in America and
I could be anywhere.
On the outskirts of the city the same patterns,
The same sprawl --
Giving people comfort,
Giving me comfort I didn’t ask for.
The staples of the city I’d never heard of.
The chains lined up and linking arms
To keep us all enclosed.
The advising mother,
the unfamiliar demeanor.
The frustration in wanting to reach
Something genuine, flesh out a certain feeling,
And the isolation in not being able to.