#detroit
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Mar 30
Mar 30, 2026 at 12:05 AM UTC
The muscle cars have aged out
of high school hamburger stands
and live in landfills
or junkyards
but some survive.
The codger across the street in the end house
keeps his in pristine condition,
replacing its parts, babying its body
in ways he can't do for himself.
I see him rolling out down the street,
into youth,
joy,
music,
health,
until he rounds the corner
and disappears.
Aug 6, 2025
Aug 6, 2025 at 11:38 AM UTC
On our east-side Detroit neighborhood: brick two-family flats with wide porches. Buildings so close together, windows open in summer (no one had AC; it was the 50s) we could hear noises of daily living, toilets flushing and pots and pans banging. The entire block across from us was open except for two houses attached by an enclosed bridge. This was the "recreation center". Beside the buildings on the south, basketball net and tennis court and sandbox pits with stakes for pitching horseshoes. On the north side, the children's playground with swings, monkey bars, and sandbox. The open field to the west, all the way to the next street, held baseball diamonds and soccer/football fields. In the winter, some of that area was turned into an ice skating rink. Bradley Recreation Center -- our go-to place every day.
Where we grew up, thrived
Took chances on ourselves
Met possibilities
Apr 27, 2025
Apr 27, 2025 at 4:09 PM UTC
Many have wondered
how those who do not worship
the dead
can find serenity
and a savior
in the inanimate
but I believe
that the remnants of passion
of earnest devotion
can be found
in the abandoned housing projects
on Detroit’s East Side
or on the wooden crosses
that line rustbelt interstates
the spirit of this land
and its people
can be found
in what they leave behind.
Jan 31, 2021
Jan 31, 2021 at 9:20 PM UTC
Here, in this village,
I, am unpigmented canvas
my suburban skin,
unfamiliar.
Where the trees
bleed colors of resurgence
into the vacant
and vibrant damp,
dark, earth below
to begin and paint again.
Dec 2, 2019
Dec 2, 2019 at 9:38 AM UTC
As I stood,
on the wet street
in solitude, behind
the external lens
in my hands,
I could hear the passing
of painted, ticking clock hands
as they whispered and waved
through static noise
from precipitation
around me–
I wondered,
if a past soul
of mine, contributed
to a time of white flight,
when a financial crisis
sprawled like a crack
on a windshield, from a chip
in glass, created
by another battle
between politicians.
My present soul,
resides,
in Heidelberg,
where
stories of others
become painted dots
on buildings
climbing walls
like spiders,
their painted eyes
against the stark white,
doted house
seeing all.
Nov 30, 2019
Nov 30, 2019 at 2:49 PM UTC
I learned of a love for treehouses,
And 8 mile.
Both the Detroit and Farmington sides.
I gave up deepthroating and cigarettes for New Years.
I developed an attachment to bridges.
Morrison, Hawthorne, Burnside, Steel, Tilikum
All pacing my afternoon runs.
Ambassador.
My favorite thing about traveling is coming home at the end.
I met another soul mate, one I don’t kiss.
We read our poems between English classes,
Scrounge up quarters for midnight subway runs,
Bond over an old love of car rides and vampire weekend.
She says
Life is excruciatingly painful,
And as your best friend I’ll let you know
“I only smoke **** with you, on tuesday evenings.”
(“And I only cry in public bathrooms at noon.”)
I learned home is where the heart is,
And my heart is always with my mother
I inked our love onto my skin in June.
I know now, that ******* is less scary and more of a sad college kid thing.
(But ****** is just as scary as it seems on TV.)
I met the pigeon man on 6th and Yamhill,
Swarmed by hundreds of grey flying rats
Kissing each one on the head before setting them back down.
I finally lost my father.
It didn't hurt half as badly as I imagined it to.
I invited too many girls to stay the night.
And one too many boys.
But I never regret holding you all close because friendship is ****** magic.
Thank you my little pony.
I learned no, you can't flush toilet paper in Asia
And yes, elephants are incredible.
That spinning on a pole makes you an artist before anything else.
That embarrassment is worth it.
That therapy is worth it only sometimes.
I learned a language where I can finally be quiet.
Admitted to
Guilty pleasures
In pop music
And fried food.
My body is a temple that can handle some mac and cheese.
And beauty is much more loving your current state than anything else.
I love my current state.
Rain, and no sales tax,
and a candlelit home.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 1:53 PM UTC
#
I visited the heavens today
all gods were absent
looked out the window
we were in the clouds
landed in Detroit
on a dreary day
why would it be any different?
this skeletal remain of a city
at least the bartender was great
but now I’m drunk wandering around
Detroit
hope I wake up in my hotel
#
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 11:17 PM UTC
Shell gas station with little neon green palm trees
perched upon the edge of the frenzied freeway,
a picture of plastic paradise
strewn with bright green lights
like spotlights of limelight
shedding light upon city life
never far from the dark side...
nearby, I spy
an assortment of street signs
to guide you into the night,
so turn right, & drive right
fly past the stoplight
into the glare of red light
& beware the districts of night life
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 12:58 PM UTC
Potholes sprinkled across empty Detroit streets
*like bullet holes in ***** bedsheets*
Found within the vacant homes of the forgotten,
alive with reminders of what used to be
Before the neighborhoods became abundant in abandoned homes
and awash with abandoned people
Yearning for forgotten yesterdays suspended far from reach,
searching for a memory of something concrete
While wandering along the crooked, cracked sidewalks
cemented with resentments;
Forgotten, forsaken, forlorn, foreboding... foreclosure
crisis spray-painted on the brick of a blown out home
Hungry for habitation despite dishevelment,
explicit with endless nothingness
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 2:58 PM UTC
From the passenger seat of my boyfriend's car
I keep my eyes wide while we drive, & watch
The world as it passes me, bye...
I wave from behind the tinted glass
Safely secured from the dangers that lie outside
We turn the radio all the way up
So we won't hear it squeak when we hit another speed bump
Instead we're blinded by bright city lights
Neon signs, streetlamps, & traffic lights;
Green then yellow then red, then red & blue (watch out, they're coming for you)
In the flashing lights, I see the city covered in a fresh coat of graffiti
Train-cars & abandoned buildings, dark alleys & concrete fences,
A bridge overpass where the streetlights have no electricity:
"Danger Reality Ahead"
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 9:58 PM UTC
It was winter of 16'
I met a boy in the land of Mary,
We went on our first date in the diner,
With my boy, boy from Detroit.
We shared an omelette, he put on extra ketchup
A scene I'll keep reminiscing.
We talked and laughed, as if no one's there
Suddenly I felt something so familiar
On the way to his car, I asked if he's cold
He said, No I'm fine, I am from Detroit.
In his car to the movie, in downtown Washington, D.C.
The movie is called Manchester by the sea
I looked at him while he talked about how his parents met in Annapolis.
My first blue eyed boy, oh Michael from Detroit.
He said that he would leave, in the month of February
To China, to pursuit his dreams.
I said ,it's fine, it's not like I am looking for a relationship.
Little did I know, I will fall for this boy from Detroit.
It was winter of 16', we always liked to have some ice cream
Wandering in the city of the district
Sometimes we didn't, sometimes we did
Know where the street is taking us to
We may stand in the cold, try to figure out which way to go
But with him I'd never get lost.
My boy from Detroit, it was never a fling
but why are there so many" what we could have been"?
Before you left, you asked my when do I know,
When do I know that I have feelings for you?
Well I guess it was the moment I unexpectedly agreed
to go to a movie with you after dinner
In your black Ford on a late Friday night
It was winter of 16'
We are both at the crossroad,not knowing where life
Would take us to
But we will be fine, after some time
We will meet again without tears in my eyes.
This is for you, Mike
Oh my boy from Detroit
When the day come,I would gladly
Change my last name to Olevnik.
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 9:38 PM UTC
Time for an adventure,
3 a.m. and raining
Sitting in my FUBU hoodie
My brain was really straining
To keep awake until the bus
Pulled into Detroit Station
So I could start my trip across
This once great and mighty nation
I wasn't there alone this night
Others dozed and slept
Some just sat there silently
While some just sat and wept
I looked at those around me
Who had assembled for this ride
I hoped we would get along
When in walked a young bride
She was dressed in white from head to feet
Her veil was ripped and torn
Behind the ruined makeup
You could see her face was worn
No groom came in, she was alone
She changed, sat, made no fuss
It was almost one more hour
Before we finally saw our bus
A Greyhound, drab and dreary
Pulled up at our loading door
They announced "210 to Vegas"
And they didn't say no more
Most people fly when heading there
They want to get there and get home
Our band of silent travellers
Wanted to just get out and roam
They loaded up our cases
I just had a backpack, that
I was gonna take on board and
Just load it where I sat
They said fifteen more minutes
They would have to fill with fuel
At this point I made contact
With a man....to have a duel
He was sitting right across from me
He had a ball out, on his knees
He was tossing it into the air
So...I brought out my keys
He tossed it up and caught it
So, with my keys I did the same
He smiled and flipped it to his left
and with my keys I played his game
He moved it round from hand to hand
Made it hover in mid air
He did it all so gracefully
I did the same with out a care
His ball, my keys...time slipping by
Just then he gave a smile
He bounced the ball upon the floor
He had beat my by a mile
I nodded, slipped my keys away
I'd been outdone through and through
By a man with a red rubber ball
What else was there to do?
We lodaded up and took our seats
The crowd was pretty thin
With the lights low on inside the bus
It was looking rather dim
The married folks and partners
paired up in seats as pairs
The singles spread out randomly
As they collected up our fares
Vegas, was our hallowed ground
The final destination for us all
Then on the station P.A
they made the final loading call
Thirty three hours was the time
We'd take to drive
Give or take some time for food stops
We'd all get there safe, alive
We hit the road directly
My adventure had begun
It was still dark in the distance
We were driving towards the sun
Across the aisle all alone
An old lady sat and wrote
She was trying to get comfortable
She was wrapped up in her coat
The seat behind me, vacant
I was grateful for this fact
It afforded me the space so I
Could put my seat right back
With the blind pulled down,
I tried to sleep, at last I drifted off
There was the sound of the bus motor
And of the occasional, dry, hoarse cough
I heard music in my head at first
So I thought it was a dream
It turned out to be a radio
Owned by our runaway, bridal queen
she sat two rows down and to my left
She had changed into some jeans, and shirt
She had one ear plug in, one out
You could see how she did hurt
I got up, stretched, went to the back
I'd freshen up and have a ***
As I walked I felt so ill at ease
As all eyes followed me
The back two seats were occupied
by two nuns, one old, one not
The smiled as I came near them
I smiled back, and then I thought
This cast of wayward characters
Was not at all like those
That were portrayed in "Homeward Bound"
The song most folkies all shoud know
On my way back I noticed a man
Reading, or at least that's how it looked
I saw no print upon his page
No letters in his book
I stood and watched, his fingers flew
Like they were moving on a rail
Then I realized that he was blind
And his book was all in braile
I stood there in amazement
At this sight that I'd just seen
Then I chuckled at the cover
From an old ******* Magazine
We pulled into a diner
We'd been out for nine hours now
We had an hour to ourselves
Time to change and get some chow
Most folks sat as they had come
In pairs or all alone
Some went out for a ciggy
One old man went to the phone
We all made sure to void ourselves
Before we got on board
For the smell from eighteen greasy meals
would test the nuns faith in our lord
The background noise was louder
Than it had been at the start
We were eighteen lonely travellers
Travelling together, but apart
A father and his daughter
Played "eye spy" and sang some songs
They played "license plate bingo"
Most lyrics they got wrong
The old lady across the aisle
was watching, intently like a hawk
She was scratching things inside her book
You'd expect her just to squak
The man who had the ball sat
Alone, said not a word
I walked by and said "good morning"
But I don't think he heard
He sat there, still not moving
staring out the window at the world
He was taking in the movie
Of our trip as it unfurled
The trip was uneventful
It went on mostly the same
People reading, people watching
Father, daughter and their games
The driver pointed out some stuff
As we passed by on the way
"To the left you'll find the largest
ball of string made to this day"
He pointed out old houses,
Fields of battle, lost and won
Just a couple took real notice
Most wished the trip was done
A repeat after five more hours
A new driver came on board
She was blond, blue eyed and beautiful
Inside, my heart just soared
In my imagination
She would pick me from the crowd
When we made it to Las Vegas
I would go with her, I'd be proud
But, she sat there pointing out the sights
Like her predecessor had
My fantasy went up in smoke
It was really kind of sad
We ventured on till Vegas
getting off to eat and then
We would all repeat our actions
And get back and sleep again
It was quiet for the most part
Most folks waiting for the end
When we came out of the mountains
We could see the strip around the bend
"Ten minutes till Las Vegas"
our blond driver told us all
Make sure you've your belongings
I looked at the man who had the ball
He smiled tossed it in the air
I tossed my keys just one more time
In a way, we had a friendship
In a way , it was a crime
We had one thing in common
It would stick with me for good
It would always make me smile
And a smile's always good
We pulled up into the station
We were all tired from the ride
Most grabbed their extra luggage
I grabbed mine and went inside
There, I went up to the window
Bought another ticket, heading east
Turned and bumped into a fellow
He was a slight, buy friendly priest
"I'm heading to Detroit, my son"
"Where is it you're off to"
"I'm just off on an adventure"
"I think I'll go back there with you"
He smiled, opened his bible
We had three hours still to wait
Before our bus was ready to go back
Across the United States
You might ask yourself, why do this?
Why go back and not take time
To see the city that I'd come to
It just seems so sublime
to me the whole adventure
Isn't in the place I go
The adventure is the people
Each trips a brand new show
The cities that I visit
Really never, ever change
But the people....oh the people
Man, some are really strange
If you now would please excuse me
I must go and change my clothes
For I'm off on adventure
How it turns out...no one knows.
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
These streets knew feet in days gone by,
bustling sidewalks, crowded storefronts,
laughter, light and dancers leaking
out of smoke-filled bars.
Cars would wind through intersections,
blood cells between neighborhoods.
From The Corner came The Roar.
He remembers how the Autumn sounded
back in '84
when Alan Trammell brought The Series home,
the arcing shot off Gibson's bat,
the rolling wave of soaring voices.
Old English
"D"
tattooed on the hearts
of a city
who's been hurting since the 50's.
Bless You Boys.
Ya did it--
went and Sparked up Michigan
and lit a dimming town again
in Corktown's widening eyes.
In 20 years, though, losses pile up.
55 and starved for signs
of trends reversing, luck upending,
impending relief or just some kind of
something.
Sickening, cloying rapid decay
as neighborhoods die.
These streets know crumbling cinderblock
walls and blistered paint coats don't
cover ribcages starting to show--
steel girder bones--and windows blown
out, like teeth lost from a well-spoken mouth,
allow the Lake Michigan wind to howl
out the tale--
through oxidized bones--
of just what it looks like
when economic war hits home.
Heartbeats still find footing
in Motor City streets, beneath
the Old English "D,"
but mind the scoreboard smart;
the Tigers lost a hundred games
in 2003.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
I took a walk today
and listened to the birds
choking on the smog,
broke my mother's back
with every step
and outran a stray dog.
I picked you a bouquet
of dandelions from the field
because flowers can't grow
when the sun's always concealed.
I put them in a vase
and filled it with water from the tap
they died within an hour,
now I know for sure you won't come back.
I always swore
I'd never own a broken home
but it's hard not to when the only one's who stay
are the garden gnomes —
but someone's been smashing them
in the middle of the night,
or maybe they're blowing out their brains
to escape my company
and the blight.
There's no magic left
in this city, so chronically gray
storms are always passing though
and the rainbows are too scared to stay...
I wanted to run away with you
from the hood and past the burbs
to somewhere where the air is clean
and filled with singing birds.
But instead I'm stuck here on this couch,
microwaving Ramen
while I search for words.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
Maybe family roots are calling, so I'll sing back.
Maybe the "streets is watching" -- so I'll wink back.
A city, teeth-deep in tragedy that still talks back.
Detroit, I think we've got something in common, maybe I'll come back.
In the gut of the city, see spots gutted, yeah I know the feeling.
rough and tough, been through enough but there's still bigger-badders threatening.
They say they'll huff, and then they'll puff, and blow your house down again.
This just got hairy, not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin.
In the aftermath of perfect disasters in a domino series,
all eyes glue on the ruins, scanning for signs of life & death amid debris,
it's prime-time on Tragedy Channel for train wreck week,
strollin' out of the dirt with a smirk...hey D ---look we're on TV.
Wearing hurt like a shirt, Detroit you're my remedy.
That heartbeat, that house drum, that low, growling energy.
Many think this city is dwindling, Detroit lights are dimming lately.
But listen for that low hum, under the pavement, feel the rumble under your Nikes.
An army survivors, are-me's telling stories in different ways.
Listen to my movement, see me be the music, throttle always open, Motor-City made.
Watch feet jittin' and go cross-eyed, 3000 RPMs in one take.
Music-macguyvers throwing backspins into air-flares, on the snow or in the rain.
Maybe family roots are calling, so I'll sing back.
Maybe the "streets is watching" -- so I'll wink back.
A city, teeth-deep in tragedy that still talks back.
In this city I see myself, we're both about to make a come-back.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
He said but you've been wasting time, potential's rare and hard to find.
If what you're looking for is peace of mind.
Then do something with yourself.
She said but I have no place to be, and I'm still figuring out this person who's me.
Can't tell you how many times I've been on my knees.
Do you think I'm going to hell?
He said a woman like you is not bound for flames.
Stop making excuses stop playing your games.
You are what you do your names just a name.
The world isn't going to wait for you.
She said but there's so many options and ways I could go.
What if I choose wrong, how will I know? I've been dissecting the past finding new ways to grow.
I'm not really sure of what I want to do.
He said so do nothing does that make you feel better?
When it rains do you cry making everything wetter?
Or are you the sunshine to the worlds ill weather?
You're thinking too far ahead.
She said do you know how many red flags I've missed?
The ungrateful sets of lips I've kissed.
And the funerals I won't even begin to list.
Everyone leaves or is dead.
He said so I guess I'm no one we're not really talking.
You're here, but off in your head gone walking.
You've hardened your heart and there's no point in gawking.
You're the one pushing everyone away.
She said so there's few left okay I get it.
And maybe you're right I should probably quit it.
I'm blessed and grateful for some I'll admit it.
I'll stop hitting the button that says replay.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 5:51 PM UTC
My water tower in the sun, my pillar in the dark.
Rust on a warehouse door, **** anatomy of a shark.
A hidden, naked cartoon, vulnerable and hurt.
The afternoon rays of light, exposing my empire of dirt.
Squid in a dark room, forgotten seat for you to ****
Discovering rotten apples, the fruitless empty pits.
Far on the ***** the eye is negligent to mankind.
No on has ***** yet "American **** isn't hard to find.
From this floor to the next, watch out for the holes.
Stalactites are forming, between the rods and the poles.
The gang is all here, each with a gat.
Questioning Detroit, wondering "where da party at."
A symphonic silence, from abandoned piano keys.
For the love of the city, the birds and the bees.
A ladder to assist you, in anything but a climb.
Wasting away the day, when all you have is time.
Where they once opted elevators, they now offer only stairs.
Peacefully residing, in the asbestos, grime, and the glares.
The walls they're all puking, a paint chip epidemic.
No chalk at the chalkboard, a failed academic.
Some sign walls in scribble, some bless us with art.
Beautiful light fixtures hang, while sanctuaries fall apart.
The debris and the rubble, wooden frames and the splinters.
A back road in the city, in the dead cold of winter.
An altar to stand at, with no sermon or expectation.
A pew a sinner can rest, with only God's examination.
A wall devoted to an ***** hymnal at hand.
Stained glass more exaggerated, with shards in the plan.
Dancing on floorboards in rafters, climbing up to rooftops.
Wandering and trespassing, trying to avoid cops.
Panda bears, pillar **** and playing in the snow.
In the shadows and the blackest rooms, I really like to go.
Pussycats in hallways and the golden lightning kitty.
Posing seductively in vacancy is where I feel pretty.
I've seen the light at the end of the tunnel, I've found King David.
Interrogated with the whys and don'ts, though I wish they'd save it.
Picasso in the projects, Sloth and Marilyn Manson.
Fairmont Creamery Company, a view held for ransom.
Some window panes are for looking out, some for looking in.
Struggle Buggy Snow White still sleeps, forever strugglin'.
I've seen them ask for me, "Warriors come out to play."
Detroit is to me, what night is to day.
I caught Pikachu and have seen a **** elephant.
In the frost of the Fisher, I found a heart that was spent.
But the cardio made of brick, spoke with such sass.
Resting bones at the Packard, in an armchair that's trash.
Patriots are nosey and robots attack.
Never putting an hour on when I'll get back.
On top of the world, or looking up from the bottom.
Abandoned buildings, schools, churches, there's something about them.
Where a tree has a better chance of rooting and planting.
When a society suddenly seems a bit slanting.
Color a flower on a wall that's been broken and charred.
Breathe life into a battlefield, encourage the scarred.
Take away ego and vanity, glance into a filthy mirror.
Don't just listen to a person, actually hear.
Sure maybe at times I may seem a bit morbid.
And my words can be harsh and approach kind of forward.
But when you're standing alone, in a hallways that's dead.
Whose last bell has been rung and last book has been read.
Then you hear footsteps from the floor up above.
It's in that uncanny awareness.
And fear...
I find love.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 12:25 AM UTC
She'll rattle your cage and get into your head.
Lioness on prowl to **** or be dead.
The jungle she's from is a book not yet read.
She's hungry and hunting won't sleep till she's fed.
Love is unimaginable, impossible at most.
When it's always grape jelly she puts on her toast.
As if the big bad wolf ever got his pig roast.
It's the infinite expectation pre marriage and post.
Facts are the advantage logic is key.
Accepting the nature of things left to be.
Horizons hold more than any eye can see.
To know ones self is to truly be free.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC
There was always light.
But they called her a black hole for a reason.
No one could fill it.
Drawn in to drown in her existence.
The constellation that mapped out your last adventure.
They only knew what they saw from a distance.
The plan but not the actual destination.
Home was never shelter, never a place.
It was acknowledging who you are.
And loving its entirety.
It's something you make for yourself.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC
Real is the empty promise.
It's the shadow of knowledge,
making contingent ideas for the nostalgic.
The intention, the purpose, the art of life..
Lost.
When you choose to settle for less than what you are.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 5:59 AM UTC