"overpasses" poems
Breathes through
A broken lung,
Gray air slithering in like
A snaking, sneaking
Through the street gutters
And down into a seedy underbelly.
From above,
You can see overpasses sprawling
Like swollen organs—
Cracked pavement,
Wet cement,
Heavy traffic.
In the thick of things
Is where the real soul
Lies:
Children playing hide and seek in
Thickets of rain and mud,
Damp yellow teeth brightening
Ashen faces,
Light feet doggedly dancing.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
the big easy
is hard lives,
what gives
this rainy city
so sublime,
it's almost a pity
that streets are lined with ****
pests and rats in the alleyways
how did things get so ******
or have they always been?
overpasses with people
lying underneath
so many homeless
it staggers the mind to think
bread bags and coffees
floating in the wake of the ferries
outnumbering 10 to 1
the loads that they carry
all the old growth
coming down
all the gold of their headpieces
tinfoil hats fashioned from crowns
no jazz or blues can save them
from the fate that waits
an engraving reading,
here lies what once was a haven
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 10:07 AM UTC
you will fade away
you will fade like the others
did too
you will fade, my SOS
and leave me with this island's truth on solitude
i rode as passenger once
in a boy's car
i had named Bessie
Bessie grunted and took naps
like a narcoleptic
we drove together
me and this green-eyed boy
in ol' Bessie
through the construction of the Yards in the summer
with our windows
rolled down
smoking cigarettes
under overpasses
on a highway bridge
the city swelling, heaving
over us
and the wild winds
splashing my face
hair tantalizing
impatiently over to his side,
my downtown apartment waiting like a desert flower at dusk
throbbing to bloom
David Bowie sang heroes and i believed the song
could never mean anything more
than our moment shared
years pass and summer nights choke me again
i'm in love again
thundershowers knock on my window
David Bowie sings
but i don't think of that green-eyed boy anymore
now, it's you
tall, spectacular man
spritzer of mystery magic from your hands
i think of you
but i'm alone in my apartment this time
i climb out of the fire escape
thunder cracks the sky
and i let the rain soak my bones
i want to hold you, but
you will not have me
completely
like how this storm
is finding
its way to the last inch of me
i close my eyes and
give
myself away
you won't be the last of them
i know
my story of heroes and lovers sits on the doorstep
of a vacant home
you won't be the last of them
i only dreamed you would
like the sight of a ship too far from shore
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
You matter to me,
You art the ghost in coffee
Clouds whistle around you
Too much energy scares
Hoi Poilloi but we rule these streets
Call us out by righteous name
Love is all you have in the Swamp
I imagine it in the hot night
Running from New Orlins
Tide tryin to eat you
Water mixed with kerosene
There is suddenly no god
My three year old daughter
Left in that miserable
Water, and nobody did a thing
9/11 was a kind of blackened day
But when the Levees Break
Nobody gets out alive
Without money to roll
It’s time to yell truth of my city
Marie Laveau in all her forms
She cried with me
She held my hands and said:
Do not lament forever
Sorrow has its place & tyme
Marie Laveau comes to me now:
Saying Rise Up and Save This City
Something so still, so solemn
Guards the city of the yellow moon
I feel it
Almost reaching it
Hands touch my eyes and
I know them
I dream of Big Chief
Who flew from Heaven
Bringing the saving of the 9th ward
Nothing can save the 9th
But Marie Laveau, both a dem Ave Maria’s
No god no Saints came marching
Saving my role on freeway overpasses
Left there to be displayed, to die of thirst
Where were you, oh God?
We loved you even as we died of thirst
In a country that could pf delivered rations to Iraq
In less than six hours.
We have been sacrificed to low cause
No happiness shall come from this
True badlands, had Saints, and Faith
Nature took but once
Government took it all &
Left us standing
Or dying in attics
Screaming
Save Our Souls
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 2:28 AM UTC
The fog spread like peach jam
overtop the overpasses.
Deep inhalations
held in our tired palms
as we watched exit signs
pass by
and marked each mile
we could no longer turn back
further.
A colony of sparkling starlets
lay a glow on the dashboard.
A small slip of fumbling thumbs
or perhaps a trip
in the wrong direction
sent me backwards
a tipsy turn
or subconscious fear of directions.
But soon,
she found herself trapped
between diluted affections
and a car headed fast
in but one direction.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 5:03 PM UTC
I was born amidst the city,
I am one with busy highways and graffiti carelessly scrawled across overpasses
I am alive at night,
Lights shine against bare skin;
I’m small against my backdrop
I’m one drop of water amongst a stream of people
I have lived in the country,
Where nobody could be found for miles
Where I was expected to rely on myself and grow into myself
I nurtured myself,
I killed myself,
I wavered and withered with the seasons
But I flourished
I will die by the sea,
Waves may crash against me,
But I will remain upright.
Salt water will heal my wounds
I shall return to nature
I will be washed away; yet eternal
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 12:32 PM UTC
If I may presume to summarize the concept,
"Eminent Domain,"
The Big P People own the Right of Way
And the little p people
Have temporary possession of the opportunity
To get out of the Way,
Or to be smashed under the wheels
Of Big P Progress.
Appropriate compensation will be paid,
Of Course,
And living spaces provided
To the little p people,
While the Big P People thunder by on their new highways,
Overpasses, airports, causeways, and thoroughfares.
Reclamation will be done over the torn earth
To re-bury the unearthed little p people's dead,
To restore damaged aquifers,
To "replace" trees and grasses "just as before,"
Never mind the pipelines,
The concrete roadways,
The railroads,
And the power lines....
Eminent Domain...
Rhymes with Capitalist Gain,
And little p people's pain....
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 12:18 PM UTC
eyeshadow ground into
a finely powdered bath rug
feet stained gold and as
straight as sink ringed coffee
*(it's a perfect day
to run away
from all the crew neck
collars choking you)*
fall face down into a
cornfield and climb
dead pine trees clear
up to the blackbirds
*(i think you were once
upon a time the one who
never spent weekends
home and hurting)*
i am not your past
not your mistakes
i am not who you used to be
but won't say it didn't shape me
*(clattering red and
white checks skittering
across the floor as
hydrogenated oils)*
i know you're
disappointed
sometimes in who
i've turned out to be
but i am also
disappointed
sometimes in who
i've turned out to be
*(only ever thinking about
ceiling fans and my latest
mistakes or an odd assortment
of unspoken disagreements)*
i can't breathe under
highway overpasses
in parking garages or when
my hands are made of leather.
*(suburbia is just a
repainted mid-century
modern way of covering
up dysfunctional families)*
here and there
then and again
i remember that you
probably don't love me anymore
i understand that
neglect destroyed you
but you don't understand
that involvement destroyed me.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 2:34 PM UTC
Why?
Because
Of you
And you
And me.
Mostly me
in reaction
to the both of you.
He's
got me locked up
Shot frozen
In the midst of worldly knowledge
And survival tactics
that I wish I could mimic
But that have me curled up
in the shower
Wondering
What if I never happened too?
Clutching the slick curtains
Wondering if I melded
into Cruella Devil?
And crying on a level that
Overpasses the physical
Because I know it should only be true.
And stuck
In the middle of my day
Questioning mid-sentence
Mid-conversation
if I am losing the sanity
I thought I regained
Over a year ago?
And now,
Because I dove in head first
into your endless pool of mixed signals
Even two years in,
I cannot figure out
Whether I am just scared
Or I am lacking in love?
That I am not sure
I have
Unless I'm hooked around his curls
And leaning into his lips
Or staring at him blankly
And when I stare
It only takes two
seconds to look
away , wonder
Is he seeing
your eyes
Through me?
Am I giving him
What you gave me?
Am I giving him anything
or did I give what little I had
to you?
Am I giving him an sweetly wrapped
Empty box for a gift?
That I may have mistakenly put
Unsatisfied lust in?
Or am I really scarred at all?
And maybe I never cared
at all
about either of you
And every tear was a child
Crying over her lost toy.
Or maybe
I am deeply sad
Because I am fussing
over boys
instead of becoming a
neuroscientist
and I let you tell me
that becoming an art teacher
wasn't enough.
Or maybe,
Neither of you were worth
my time.
But were necessary for me to find it
Or maybe,
life just is what it is.
And all stories
have at least three different sides
And maybe, sometimes
Words just don't want to get out of bed
to string together to make
my conclusion-less,
spineless
poems.
Dec 13, 2010
Dec 13, 2010 at 8:58 PM UTC
Do you know the feeling of holding on to abstract ideas?
Hot and abysmal
Whimsical fears
Dry and unenchanting miserable years?
Do you?
Or do you know the road of normal hopes,
Overpasses and classy folk,
Cheap sunglasses and average Joes?
Do you know those things?
Or does light bring dimmer views
Shadows of doubt cast around
A darker, livid hue
If someone had to die,
Would it be him or you
Or would you simply choose to escape and sing a hymn or two?
See forgiveness doesn't come to those who ask, ask anyone
Even me,
I have asked you plenty ones.
In hindsight, you will see
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 7:07 PM UTC
Not only he breathes
Millions do, and want to stop
Wishing co2 would fill each lung
Swallowing poison, inhaling fumes
Bringing cords into water
****** relics in piles
Belts cling to ceiling beams
Feelings etched into wrists, blown away and thrown
Before traffic from overpasses
Right now
He chose pills, antibiotics
They tried to pump it out of him
Pressing down his chest
They want to make him one of them
Beep… Beep…
Every limb restrained
September fourth, 9:42
Pronounced alive
Apr 2, 2010
Apr 2, 2010 at 11:32 AM UTC
At six in the morning when the inches
of snow are still holding the sunshine
off with their vacant swelling hills
and troughs, I hear the passing traffic
a block east. Will the traffic stop?
When I say traffic, I mean the rumble of coal
cars two miles distant. I mean garbage
trucks full of yawning men I don't know
and garbage I've known for a week.
I mean the women leaving hospitals
bound for sunbathed sleep habits
and more long days of night. When I say
traffic, I mean the adolescent fox foraging
through the Baptist churchyard. I mean
the line of metal carriages trailing
from checkout line 10. I mean the blood
racing to my arm after we spent the night
holding each other.
When I say blood racing I mean the multiplying
and dividing of cells, beats in a symphony built
up, crumbling down by an ancient arithmetic
pulling us in, broken gravity we fight by holding
onto it, clutching it to our hearts as we step into
the earth.
When I say blood racing, I mean the tiny
blind lives bustling under flesh overpasses,
blood cells commuting perpetually even after
years of smoking cigarettes, lungs an oil spill
butterfly resting in the chest. When I say
six in the morning, I mean the dark hour,
my second wind, when I rise to clear our
tables and stack the dishes in the sink.
I mean the hour you finally went to bed
after we fell asleep on the couch, again.
I mean the hour I crept into the hall
to take out the trash, tight hand-rolled cigarette
patient on my lip.
When I say six in the morning, I mean the time
between the milk man and the sunrise, I mean
the minutes falling around the decaying beauty
of gold and scarlet leaves prostrate on cold
sidewalks.
When I say decaying beauty, I mean the wizened
grey tree, standing naked, no, stooping
over the fence by your road.
When I say stooping, I mean the man draped
in a scarlet vest and goldenrod button-down
wincing himself upright on the stool, unconcerned
with the dark pub behind him or the faces bent
through his glass in the dim refractions of the Open sign,
faces bent over mostly empty glasses, empty faces.
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 3:06 PM UTC
YOU NEEDED THAT COMFORT DIDN'T YOU HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SLEEP UNDER ALL THESE OVERPASSES WHEN THE CARS DON'T RUN LIKE THAT AROUND HERE TELL ME HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO TAKE EVERYTHING YOU SAY WITH A GRAIN OF SALT WHEN I'M TOO HOPEFUL FOR THAT **** WE BOTH KNOW IT GETS DANGEROUS I HAVEN'T BEEN AROUND FOR HUNDREDS OR THOUSANDS OF YEARS BUT I KNOW A THING OR TWO ABOUT "STORAGE" AND MEMORIES THAT LIVE PACKED AWAY IN THE ATTIC AND ON GOD YOU CAN'T BLOW DUST OFF THIS ONE LIKE THE REST
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 12:17 AM UTC
city lights & I'm
coming home, this
"who you know, now what you know" echoing
needs escaping..
in alleys/on rooftops, visions
of reality: what real
reality is now a
fierce fight for what I know
is good & beyond the afternoon,
things really aren't that
bad are they?
or are we just making
it seem like they are?
always shining:
overpasses, freeways,
suburbs & subways -
city lights,
in my veins like a virus,
in my head, like a dream..
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 10:51 AM UTC
I am the reckless voice of a thousand nights spent driving down
highways too close for comfort when hometown familiarity
was everything I was trying to escape
only to end up face to face w/ cold
concrete Bank Street(s) where reality was shovelled
in my lungs, where fatality was imprinted on my veins
& where circumstance became a real reason for
those overpasses where I constantly searched for a friend..
you see, the strangers I’ve met have melted into my memory
& given me such capillary strength that the whole world seems like
it’s right in my own backyard too often, & it’s never too late to
extend an energy to save another’s skin..
warmth now pours from their eyes & I realize that it only takes a second
to change a life, a striving moment can be stretched out to last a lifeTIME!
so we survive in these streets of small towns or big cities
& we strive not to repeat what’s been taught to us by silver & living room screens:
I am the reckless voice of a thousand days spent walking on & along sidewalks
on dirt roads
on early morning wet grass
on those highways heading home
Sep 25, 2011
Sep 25, 2011 at 2:40 PM UTC
we march under overpasses much too low for our own concrete heads
w/ so little time left over to spend any of it thinking about our future
mistakes & what we'll never do about them.. a journey without
a destination, a marketed smile without a cost:
these are things that just don't matter (in a long series of ends..)
& you can tower all you want over zen skies, I will not answer the call
that is expected of me - change(s) flattened out the horizon & clarity
is my new virus, my new vision, my new void to fill up to the rim..
I have seen & felt the distance that is thrown on me once
that blue sign is crossed.. I want to shout at #11 for ages
because we can't keep being strangers in such a familiar place..
we can't keep being strangers around such familiar faces (anymore)
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 9:49 AM UTC
LA is grey.
All asphalt and concrete
Overpasses
High rises
Dirt-tinted buses
The colors are too bright, in an unnatural way.
Smiles are fake and the thrum of life is auto-tuned
“Natural” is skimmed and trimmed and clipped
“Healthy” is shiny with oil and goo
“Pretty” is doing what you’re not supposed to
They’re different because they all are - and thus surprisingly the same.
Empty, searching, tired of life’s game.
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 2:40 AM UTC
incessant selflessness manifested is ignorance
opposite its notorious nemesis, selfish, insidious
let the latter mask the masses,
they are us and we, its masters
yes, i was them till i was casted
i will not master nor be mastered
for voicing inquisitiveness
similar to the kin of the sin
rumored to have killed the cat
let them castigate and excommunicate
my mask will decay in the casket
till, that is,
they let the former; its toxic gasses
end times nine lives like mine
shunned and inhabitants
who slumber under overpasses
and would unwaveringly pass
on being passive
on not going under
long before playing roles active
in a world so colorfully composed
of paint strokes dipped
in tin cans consisting
of the blood and innocence
of shunned masses,
the victims of ignorance
and its subsequent massacres.
asleep in peace
at rest with my dignity
my pride
and all the answers.
as are the circumstances
of those who will not master
nor be mastered.
disaster
- end
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 8:39 PM UTC
Danger danger
This could be fatal
This could be real life
Or one of Aesop's fables
Prayin for sunshine
These kids just wanna make it rain though
I used to be able to take body shots now
I get a flag thrown for a tackled ankle
I'm exploring my options from every angle
Been broken, mangled
To feeling like my life is a movie, Fandango
Could really cash in on cuz
Today I feel like a new me was born
The calm before the storm
A swarm of birds and bees
Flock to the last sunflowers and worms
Block the past out
obnoxious facts bout
Leaving on your own terms
Believing in achieving
as long as the sun burns
Lather up that lotion
Don't leave no stone unturned
In search of purpose
Hurts the surface
But deep down I find comfort lurkin'
Just a couple more layers to peel back
Don't shed a tear
Get the **** up out my hemisphere
You don't want no problems here
Smiling from ear to ear helps me
Stear clear of fear that's drawing near
Unchartered territories
Run farther from careless worries
Become part of this unburied treasure hunt
It's cloudy with a Chance of flurries
Be careful on the off ramps Bridges and overpasses traffic may be delayed in these areas.
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 2:46 AM UTC
My whole life I’ve been afraid of tornadoes.
I remember the black widows
in the window well outside my bedroom,
and how afraid I was
they would make their way in.
I’d say I was afraid of heights,
and I live in the mountains.
Planes are still a no go.
Ladders make me tremble.
Roller coasters make me anxious.
My blood pressure raises
whenever I go to the doctor.
If a bill is not paid, I can’t sleep.
Highway, overpasses,
icy bridges,
and narrow dirt roads
make me tense.
Losing you is the worst thing I can think of.
But somewhere in there
above dentist offices and being alone at the mall,
but below submarines and black holes
is that little pink line.
When my period is late
and I sit there waiting
for the longest three minutes of the year.
When I start imagining how I’ll tell your mom.
When I imagine the look on your face.
And when the timer goes off
that moment of hesitation
that quiet before the torrent of emotion,
the anticipation that wells up under my diaphragm
the shivers down my spine
and the lump in my throat
for a single glance
To rip it all away.
May 5, 2025
May 5, 2025 at 12:40 AM UTC
He used to walk back and forth across overpasses
You would too
When I met him he said to me,
“Have you ever been in Chicago in the middle of the night?
When the whole city pauses in between breaths
In between screams
Day by Day
We ******* scream
Every God **** day we’re ******* screaming
And when there is no more breath
When there’s no more light
We wait and we simmer
All the while the hungry commuters flit back and forth under the auburn aurora of our hopeful solipsism.”
I did not answer him.
He was not asking a question.
And then I understood why he used to walk back and forth across overpasses.
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 5:07 PM UTC