Metropolis

I mostly watched the singer

shake away his age

as it caught up with him

and nothing seemed to impress us

anymore besides one hundred dollar bills

and vodka shots. The youth left us

with our past. Our ten percent shot

at another night of bringing back the

days. All the drunken sailors

tried to get their hands on us

but we have to try so much more

now and drink so much less.

We’re getting sick of the city

and the dirt and the envy.

We’re getting tired of the puddles

and the hurt and the  five dollar coffee cups.

We’re getting upset with the fake news

the killing sprees, the hiding

of ugly humanity. I swear I want

to leave this place and never

look back. Never think about

what language I should speak

first, second guess someone’s

authenticity. I like the vast sky

the view from my window

on my quiet street, for years

I wanted to run from it

and chase the night. Now

I want to sit, enjoy my moments

and never look back to who

I used to be before I met you.

 

 

See you anon

Writing a novel is such a task

words found somewhere on the bottom of a tin flask

one last drop to tie me over

give me luck with a fake four leaf clover.

The dead trees still live

on the icy snow

we pass the farms, the homes

trying to let the feelings go

but they knock

they hum

like the sounds of this train or a long lost battle drum

on a bumpy ride or a field of dead

drink coffee and hide

behind Gatsby’s bed

or samples of another book

about people I never knew

or ones that I want to meet

so I write

on this train

on my feet

on a chair

in my head

up the musical stairs

as long as I paid the fare.
Did you miss my words?

all these crying kids

buy sour cream and onion chips

and then the mirror on the taxi reminds

me of him

fills my head up with deceitful lights

take words and turn them into

the vast forest

spanning across our two provinces

flowing in and out of them as robbers do

trickery, lies and subterfuge

filled with sweet apple pies.

Show my boarding pass

I have 87% of Fitzgerald

can’t stop reading about Daisy

Tom and Jay

leave nothing behind

night has turned into day

your name on my lips

and hands tightly squeeze my hips

for the trees are whispering again

and I know

people like us

can only hear them

even from behind the glass.

I write the title first

it’s from the book

another route

and cable lines

keep us joined

stronger than poetry.

Grab my bags

I’m coming home

and I missed you too.