I dream of cities I have never been to,
And I dream of faces I have never seen.
I dream of memories I've never made,
And I dream of words I have never heard.
I dream of feelings I've never felt,
And I dream of foods I've never tasted.

I dream of adventures I've never had,
And I dream of you.

I want to take you to cities that you will never feel comfortable in.
I want you to clutch at my fingers like a weary child.
I want you to lose me in a crowd and realize that you could never lose me in life.
I want you to see me every time like it's the first time, and the last.

And when I leave?
I want you to long for my touch, for my taste, for my love.
I want you to smell me on your clothes, and see me in every shadow.
I want you to look at another lovers face and see my eyes.
I want you to shiver when you hear my name.

And only when want drives you to the edge, I want you to remember that I was never yours.

you can’t run away from me.
i’m the fate you can’t escape.

one day in a smaller city and you
forget that where you came from was like
a small town too.

small cities with big houses,
and rich folks with richer spouses–

is this the american dream?
because i never dreamed of this.
not really.*

all the lights are dim here.
streetlights, table lamps, and stars.
they all are just bright enough to overthrow
darkness, but not bright
enough to give anyone hope.

but the houses are nice,
and everyone drives an energy efficient car,
and it’s all quite nice
if you look you don’t look
behind
the curtains.

one day in a smaller city and you can’t
forget that you are small too.

I loved, though not mine
That invisible notion that creates substance.
Saw as a pedestrian crossing the street; Watching

This love seemed theatrical
Standing still; Watching
The persona of something we knew not where we belonged
Searching

Perhaps I was lost. Standing there; Watching
To hear another speak
To watch as a pedestrian on the street

To pretend to be the smile that crossed her face
That industrial glow that colored her cheek
Tattooed sidewalks

The fast paced nature given; metropolis
Just seen walking around
Cars burrow deep into traffic; Watching

The capacity of taking delight in something so simple; Watching
Fickle
The grim street corner over by the third traffic light

Perhaps we stumble
Learning to walk; standing still
The clouds sympathetic in nature
Blurred the allure of the sun

I loved, though not mine
This notion becoming witness; Watching
This momentum walking fast pace; Watching

Slender shoulders cast angular shadows
Advancing up the grim street; Watching
Following the curve of concrete ladders

I loved, though not mine
The presence of strangers; Watching
A community of thought
Civilized in public

An unseen riot that wreaks carnage; walking
Her stare
That industrial glow
An invisible notion

Saw as a pedestrian crossing the street; Watching
Loitering
Stepping out into traffic
Getting hit by a parked car

The words are gone, the parties cracked glowsticks spilling their blood on the sidewalk.
The minutes that felt all mine, personal, a glove around space-time that I dictated -

now they’re standardized to measure the effects of real disparities in theoretical constructs.

But my fingers twitch, my teeth find skin, the coffee keeps coming but the world doesn’t slow.
And someday I’ll LOSE IT and bike naked through my new streets and claim it all back, the dark spangled world I used to inhabit, that evaporated in the false lights of the city.

Give me back the yellowed bricks and the pensive dizzy walks home. Running through the forest with the vultures up ahead and the cracked pavement underfoot, woods rising like spectres, autumn crackling on all sides, loneliness lifting up my steps and fog curling around my neck. The songs all say the cities are exciting but the outskirts are alive, the outer places plead, they love you with a desperation those glutted urbanities won’t understand.

They’ll call us home someday. That dark earth, the gnarled tree. Empty fields and brick-husk-buildings will welcome us with fireflies and curving mist and the quiet dramatics lost to the souls beating their spreadsheet hearts, with space budgeted x for family and y for ******* and the bullet-to-the-heart z (complacence). They’ll call us home, remind us the world is made of ghosts, the bones of trees, the bodies of clay, and the dust of flowers. That bluebird chirping is the only true sound you’ll ever hear. The pine needles and the wind are saying something important, and I live in a world of windowpanes! The fog is lifting, the sun is rising, and all the ghosts are going home. The waterfalls keep falling, but they fade from memory. The rocks jut towards the heavens, just as always, but my appreciation fades. Now I’m left -

True Reflection
I saw him walking down the uneven concrete
He had a beat to his step, every move on count
Avoided slanted ladders and black cats on corners
Steel noose hung from his neck that resembled a cross
It dangled like an unsteady decoration
He had a long stride and I was on par with pace
Walked close but there was a wide gap in our bridge
Chicago wind pushed through us with cold shoulders  
It carried harsh fumes of a forest cremation  
Evergreen trees torched, leaves fall to the ground mourning
He enjoyed the smoke’s company, didn’t wave her off  
But she left as he heard chords of American horns
He bobbed his head to the sermons preached by beggars
Ran from synchronized fireworks between gangs
Glared at visual art of red and blue strobe lights
Treaded his fingers on chipped pale skin of town houses
And tasted the sweet sourness of a girl’s rain-check
His expression was content like the heart of a book
His smile fell in sequenced with the collapse of eyelids
I became aware that something was weighing his walk
Opaque bottles barely stood straight in his coat pockets
Staggered after each other like rows of dominos
Bottles fractured causing the cement to catch ripples
He couldn’t brake over broken glass he drove into me
Nose to Nose we touched as we were about to crash
I carved into the core of his eye and saw myself
Lying on the pavement with a blanket of fragments
And I realized I couldn’t remove the stained glass
Because what was there belonged from the beginning

My favorite juxtaposition
Is when a city goes totally silent
When the widest streets are empty
And the only sounds are quiet

The bustling stores are still closed
And no one else is walking around
The city looks amazingly different
With only a few men in the ground

The buildings stand tall and silent
While those up late tuck in for the night
And the earliest risers have yet to awake
To meet the ever blinking lights

The signs are as bright as ever
And the lights still work 'round the clock
But not a single bike, car, or man
Can be seen on the city block

I stand on the silent street corner
Feeling the moment rush through me
For stunningly empty cities
Are some of my favorite places to be

I saw a flower
in a crack of a sidewalk,
that reminded me of you.
Not because it was common,
but because it was original.
Something beautiful
that grew
from nothing.