My breathless mind runs in circles
I bike laps around the roof of the parking garage as the sun goes down
It’s too loud for a quiet town
The clouds look back at me colored like a Renaissance painting
The concrete frame’s got pain and no window pane
I play gunshots or fireworks
And ride home to my white suburbia perks
Is this my first Renaissance?
I hope not the last
I’m overwhelmed by the ambiance
The ground pushes back and the concrete slips
And I’m too out of breath to reach the city’s loudest taunts
The steeples rebuild and the plywood sits
The streetlights blink and the tree trunk rips
The train comes north at an alarming sound
And I pray to any God that there's no body on the ground.