CITY WALKING

Rectangles with souls.

Windows lined like soldiers.

Sounds in the head.  Fog rises

but never into a storm.  Dogs

walking as if they know where they’re going.

Fast steps lead to a corner bar where

No one’s ship comes in; liquid languages

spoken here.

 

Everything appears in slow motion.

It’s easier to remember when dreaming

in black and white.

 

Each town is a jungle.  Roars and rabble

run from the alleys.

 

Back to the wind.  Fair weather somewhere

up ahead.

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