Metropolis is dust, the smoke of unfaded coffin nails, she's a sensual bonfire littered landscape, the burning lust running in my veins between safety and risk, circumcising the stage where Dylan went electric. ~ "I didn’t belong to anybody then or now.”
Swing-shifting to mercenary mode, but sinking my face value by ordering takeout religion, sharing a cab with Hepatitis C, and all those sky-high boxes and rectangles —existing in one, spending nights with her in another. ~ "Oh, lay me down to sleep upon the trickery of time." ~
I am the empty space between the highways, Abandoned strip of indirection, Subsisting on passers-by's throw-away food and emotions / Civic midsection / I am a buffer / I lead nowhere and no roads leads to me / I am the empty nest of a bird long flown to the wetlands / I am everyone's, cared for by the city, I am where the bodies are buried sometimes / I am where teenagers get high, The lake of grass from which Charon ferries you and your people to the other side, I am where tall grasses sway at midnight, Snowplowsand. Cars pass. Hourglass headlights.
i was at a little coffee place, still open it was one i frequented often, when in the sin a place of pity when you look closely at the people or inspect the buildings a bit nearer some street blocks you need just look down but i'd bought a cup for a nice young fella out on his luck he'd made the pavement his pillow and as he talked my ear off on physics, domestic politics, and stocks i thought of what little difference it made to so many whether it was him or i calling my stay on the straightaways and the little that made us separate
banker's lamp green light of envy because she will never be his late office nights work done beneath sheer illicit thoughts of her and her blue dress become his flights of fancy wrapped tightly around her waist blinds half-drawn the city is invasive automobile engines and cigarettes smell of lost love, dust, marriage and regrets their futures already both faint shadows on the walls outside the halls are empty the desk is wet with sweat nobody knows so they are free how empty they will leave for homes already broken bittersweet lives caught on repeat caught on repeat
Inspired by Edward Hopper's 1940 painting Office at Night.