Kissing yellow-orange suede
lips,
barely brushing
hesitate to puncture such
unbroken flesh

then the light body lowers and feet
turn home again, left
hand
keeping sunrise and
saving it for breakfast.

i'm not showering any
more frequently than
i typically do

but every time i step in
that bathtub i swear
a whole day goes by

the water falling
turns into soft
concrete

and the drain
stops up and
i'm standing

ankle deep in
a brand new
sidewalk

soap suds running down
my legs and pooling
upon an unwalked path

and heaven only knows
how long before it all cracks
and i'm free.

When in doubt
spit on the sidewalk
and stare the ******* down
This procedure works
on violent men
It also works
on your own
madness

I am built like city blocks
crooked and running in all directions.
My veins run up and down like busy streets,
lit by headlights and street lamps.
My scars are like demolished buildings,
a reminder of something that once was.  
I have a skyscraper mind that
reaches higher than anything else.
My heart is a monument that many see
but don't really know.
My thoughts are subways and buses that
move everywhere all at once.
There is no stopping- only a hushed hurry.
I am hard and concrete, my sidewalks are stained;
but to some, I am home.
I have hidden secrets inside, that you only know once
you decide to stay in the city
and choose to love me.

gimme that elmwood walk where we don't acknowledge each other;
my lips feel on fire and I
count the steps
for every sidewalk square;
1,2
3,4.

There are millions of bars in this city
and I found you in one of them
Sitting next to a girl who was pretty
Drinking beer, trying to feel alive again

There are millions of broken hearts in this city
I found a piece of yours left on the stool
You walked out into the street all empty
In the shadows of people that´d never know you

There are millions of cried tears in this city
and I found some in your brown eyes
A mix of loneliness and self pity
Marking every sidewalk before sunrise

There are millions of lost souls in this city
and I found you for a little while
Back then I was naivé and pretty
For a minute we made each other smile

There are millions of bars in this city
and I found you in one of them
Sitting next to a girl who was pretty
Drinking beer, trying to feel alive again

How many times
Have I sat here

How many times
Has the wind whipped my hair around my face

How many times
Has the night engulfed me
In its dark arms

How many times
Had this sidewalk been my #1 place to pray
Pray that maybe next time it will work out

How many times
Have my tears wet this pavement

How many times
Have my worries swept away the dirt
On your surface

How many times
Will I sit here again

How many times
Will the hurt trickle into the cracks
On this cement

How many times
Will the rain cover the tears I've wept
Like I did again tonight

How much more pain
How many silent comfort sessions
*Can I take?

Saturday sidewalks are filled by the youthful,
the boys with young muscles and hard heads,
the girls with soft skin under short skirts.
They wander sidewalks in search of escape.
Each of them dance with lust,
drink hard,
and inject madness
into their veins.

On Sunday mornings,
after the splendor of uninhibited release,
the young weep in regret of poor choices,
their air saturated in reality.

Sidewalks then belong to the wise
who wake from a good rest.
These men and women drink roasted coffee,
reflect on a transcendent spirituality,
read great poetry,
and meet friends to discuss
the roots of democracy.

Every year, the unchanging concrete slabs
of sidewalks appear slightly different.
They reflect our perspectives.
Sidewalks that once led to freedom,
now lead to enlightenment.
In future years,
these same sidewalks
will lead to rest.