A Different Tune

It has been a
long time since
I stepped off the
Greyhound door
and slipped easily
into the fragile magnetic
fields of life.

Many are drawn
towards the
scaffolded mountains,
desert phalluses
and support of bliss.

I arrived with no motive,
void of inspiration

seperated like a still
born cut from the mother

- I did not know the difference.

It was not until
I left (now) I am able
to project a meaning
onto the canvasses
of streets where
before they all
appeared the same.

It is the way in which
all amnners of life operate.
- The girl you love, the friend you never called.
- The feelings you hurt, the ones that raised you.

All the same!

Cities are only different
when you are the visitor.
After time the autonomous

deafness of fog
covers the senses.

Now to recall
those orange coned
streets I give
myself unto imagination

more and more
it steals from me
and replaces memory.

Fine.

I once fell inlove with it all,
then stumbled out, but soon
was back

into the
pattern of
quotidian.

I loved fucked,
wept and trembled
into the clean gutters.

But I was afraid for
so long of that

Lurking
Madness-

-The oblivion.

Not until I succumbed
to the terror did
I see the city
as a body laid hidden
but vulnerably bare.

I was finally aware
of those dirty alley ways
leading deep into the dark gut
underneath the temples and cafes
where maddened ones
were forced to strike each other
over and over in the attempt at

sobering their idealism.

The stair wells framed
by the longing fingers,
the roof tops of our
egos caving in, crumbling
across the whloe dark night.

The deeper I dug
into the secret tunnels
of the city I began
to smell the beautiful
pockets of fresh air.

Crawling forward
into patches of light
I could see by
the blinding brightness

this city was capable
of possesing true
and absolving darkness.

I loved it all.

When the bars knew
me by name I felt
accomplished and
tipped too much, but
this is how it goes
whether we know it
or not, we all seek
for that feeling.

We all meet people
without knowing
them, some give you
pavlovian reflexes to spew
on their fake smiles.

It takes peering
through the dim
interior landscape
and meeting eye to eye
on the other side
to find the one to
vomit freudian hiccups
onto your back.

To lose your mind
intentionally, lose
your fear, loose your
legs and voice

to lose yourself as
a device of saying
farewell to the ones

you love.

Intentionally.

I try to paint the
city alone but
find that it is only
made up of faces
contained within the
sprawling suburbia
laid into the plastic
horrors of life.

A fine city it is.

I imagine comfortable
neighborhoods and the
supernatural fall striping
life into raw aesthetic beauty.

I can see that there
remains the magnetic
force of not only a
wasteland, but a
lovers heaven looked
upon through a window
from a bed.