#skyscrapers
clean fit, ***** city
manz gripping the waist because i’m too pretty
breaking it down on Yonge street
breaking it down for the young me
that had to hide, inner child suicide
now i surf the waves and follow the tides
imagining what it would be like
to be a son of skyscrapers
imagining what it could be like
if i left my nest i’ve built
home is where the heart is
but where is mine
i think i found it in the rainbow
Jun 28, 2022
Jun 28, 2022 at 11:45 AM UTC
The four skyscrapers
Looming on the horizon
The poplars fallen
Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 4:17 AM UTC
Maybe the reason stars are disappearing from the sky
Is because we pluck them one by one, like flowers
And place them in skyscrapers, celestial floral arrangements
Close enough to touch
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 9:35 AM UTC
Manhattan bathes in lilac-stained dawn,
patiently waiting for a new day to form.
Skyscrapers tickled by the flicker of confused lights
on
or
off?
Night
or
day?
they wonder
whilst light meets dark,
nodding heads
as they pass each other by.
Taxis creep around corners,
collecting the last of the night raiders,
breath sour and eyes wine-weakened,
allergic to morning light.
Cars groan and begin to carve today’s trails
exhaust pipes snoring
as they huff out polluted clouds into smokeless sky.
The 6.a.m. sun crowns The Empire State Building,
and glazes a million windows like honey-roasted ham.
Chrysler squints,
May’s rays bounce off her bronze-blushed walls.
Sleepless wanderers now sleepy crowds,
wine bottles now coffee cups.
Pigeons flutter between dragging feet,
pecking pavements,
catching the odd petal from the honey-blossoms
that stand like angels amongst grey steel.
A sea of suits cluster at the crossing,
people politely covering yawns
as they wait for the green man to give them instruction,
unsure whether the button has even been pushed.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 1:22 PM UTC
Roaring skyscrapers.
Businessmen shuffling papers.
Beautiful women with stilts for legs.
Maids making rich men's beds.
Runners swoosh by with grace.
Everybody a brand new face.
It's all too easy to leave no trace.
Dear God, what a place!
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 8:41 AM UTC
Little boxes where the
sky ends and the skyscrapers start
and lights fill the heart
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 10:11 PM UTC
There are those who
despise tight spaces
who hate confinement
at least in their own basement
There's some truth
I concur
I need room
not some gloomy tomb
still there are some
who are confined
by the dust below
and the clouds above
they desire
the width of the equator
and claim
the height to the stars
but in the end
with all man as a subject
with majestic skyscrapers
and treasuries filled to the brim
their death creates borders
implodes skyscrapers
and loots the coffers
alas, as they started
in incubators
they remain claustrophobic
in coffins
the world is not enough
because we are not enough
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
Where words fly
But carving exists
I am too ancient to be new
I am glued to the truth
Not to any falsehoods
I carry the same precision,the same hue
Dig out my birth and you'll see me same
Lying motionless,fighting the time change
My shadow hasn't changed
Nor it has tried to run away
To the mere fact of being new
Where only illusions exist
I display the glory,the mighty wins
While people try to absorb me during their blinks
And now the time plays havoc
Tyrannous is he
But I stand-motionless
Dead but alive,
Alive, for the truth I display
Scratched are my walls
By the new lovers
Broken are my idols
By the gruesome manipulators
But I stand-motionless
Steady but lively
Fighting all foes
I'll be me,the old me
Cause I'm mellow
While new is hollow
And by each passing day
People flock to see me
Full of brimming curiosity
"Ah,what a beauty" they say.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 12:35 AM UTC
When I was younger, I saw life
As white houses in neat rows
I loved the chrome, the steel, the metal dreams
The feel of sand and dirt and seams
There was only the meadow, the machine, and me
Now everydays an endless stream
Of cigarettes and magazines
I’m trying my best to be just like them-
A sad sirens song with red lipstick on
A ******* kicker, with a heroine heart
They say I’m dangerous because I don’t know what I want
They say I f@cked my way to the top.
Well we all mourn atop skyscrapers
As they clamor for judgment day
But I’m not afraid of dying
When the words of prophets are written on the subway walls
And the good crawl down to tenement halls
They sing for fame, liquor, love, scream give it to me
Because I thought I was sitting pretty on the throne of metal steel and chrome
Fools, I say, you do not know
That all I want now is to be left alone
So I sit up at night talking to the moon
Becoming so lost its like I never existed in the first place
Listening to the fabulous clockwork of heart and lungs
Listening to all heart’s dints and machinations
Made of metal and tears and chrome
I was lovely once, marred forever by a pair of (heart shaped glasses)
The foulmouthed flower of bohemia
Moonshine, take me to the stars tonight
While I’m not afraid to live fast and die young
Among the whispering , the champagne and stars
Angry yet, half in love
With death in the cooling twilight
Singing an arsonists lullabye with the workers in songs
For I stumbled into trouble, got my makeup on
A red lipstick sirens sad song
Of metal, steel, and chrome
Its real hard to be free when you are bought and sold
And only money makes you smile
They tell me I did it but we blew it
They say I’m too young to worry ‘bout burning out
So come on, let me bite the bullet now
I’m stuck in the landscape, the loveclub
I'll save you a seat next to me down below
This heights messing with my head
The ground calling to me
Like something out a dream
I’m scared to jump but terrified to stay
And this way I’ll never, feel no pain.
my boy builds coffins, don't ya know
of metal, steel, tears, and chrome
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 10:56 PM UTC
i heard that the wind
can do as much as
turn skyscrapers into dust and rubble
and whisk away green vegetation
as it surges on unsuspecting cities.
ethan,
my heart is not a city.
and you are not the wind.
don't turn us into a catastrophe.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 1:53 AM UTC
Our life puts the "Sh..." back in
"Chicago."
This pulse could race, slow to a dull thud or stop and curdle like the residents of a container of milk who've been left out, and still you will never love me.
Gobs of waiter phlegm we never detect in our bowls of soup and teapots beg our forgiveness and howl for our affection, and are invisible.
But where is the crime in not loving
when we are not loved?
How could there be a crime in not loving,
when we are loved poorly?
Loved so poorly we cannot afford
to ask ourselves where is the crime,
thus implying innocence.
We put the "mice" back in
"monogamous."
tip-toeing, silent but for mere squeaks, nearly inaudible whispers,
furtive looks, and how we run away, screaming,
or, like mice and Chicagoans all, we freeze.
Aquiver with fear, iced up in the Polar Vortex, hands raised in the policeman's spotlight.
But where is the crime in not loving
when you are not loved, or loved poorly?
Loved so poorly we cannot afford to stand up straight,
We scurry close to building walls,
trying not to be seen or see each other as we curse our fate.
Where is the crime in not loving those whom we hate?
There is no crime, but still, not loving is the heart of all crime.
To feel so deeply unloved we wish to destroy ... you name it.
Blot out, ruin and erase them; our enemies, our families, lovers, and even the world herself.
Jab a knife into her verdant hide and twist until black blood flows.
Gouge out mountaintops seeking iron for our towers.
Remaking her grace to build our graveyard.
These vibrant phosphorescent tombstones, overpopulated pillars of mutual isolation reach up into the clouds.
Announcing to the universe, we trumpet a loneliness as profound as it is absurd and ugly.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 6:48 PM UTC
Read me outloud
It doesn't hit the same without it
Empty room yet mind is crowded
How to sit and stare up at night sky
Without thinking about
All the ground and concrete and skyscrapers compressing chest
So heavy I'm convinced we'll all sink down into the earth soon enough
Not that it really seems to matter anymore
I can still feel doom tugging at the corners of being
Still see dead faces of everyone flashing through mind
"Hello nice to meet you, I can see you rotting in my head"
A brisk break room conversation
Not that it really seems to matter anymore
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
Mind in transit,
Wandering the city with a subway heart.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC