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Came home from Berlin

Came home from NYC
chasing the apotheon.

Back in Galway
I dissolve ♄ere

♐︎his instance; of
being otherwise
within and beyond
one's place in the universe.

Some quiet time
soothes the soul, though
too much pains the psyché.
Norman Crane Sep 2021
stormless nightscape
neon lightning
car-thunder and auto-hum
the dark doldrums
sky scrapes
violence even in brightest daytime
the city is
its own weather system
tempestuous / slum
lashing / victims
of architecture: humans undone
slithering, slithering
we,    slugs of no sun
Norman Crane Sep 2021
city din under
-standing passengers passing
below the l train
Norman Crane Aug 2021
sweet birdsong consumes
the bitterness of cities
a summer morning
Norman Crane Apr 2021
on sunday mornings
the streets sigh
with hideous anticipation
awaiting an answer to a question—
is the city dead
or not yet awoken?
Carlo C Gomez Apr 2021
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."

Tran Thuy Anh Feb 2021
My city sings like a siren
Its brash tenor, an incision 
Fading into mundane life

My city rises like smoke 
From a freshly lit cigarette
Until the sickness sets in  

My city mourns like a lover
Begging for more time
Before the flame subsides

My city trembles like a sinner
Before a god 
Indifferent to her pain
Kitten Yvad Mar 2021
it seems to have taken
mold now but there
are no cold sounds where

verdant things kiss
the mountain rounds

and i promise this
where audobon park
grows listening, sighs are
met to sighs where homes are

you know this;
that it's not far
Norman Crane Feb 2021
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.
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