The city is not anyone’s anymore,
as if it ever was.
The empty railroad warehouses, where…
Romance wore smudged faces, fought over a tough touch.
Now, old bruises, vanished on the wide surface of skin.
Strong arms refused to let go
Who pretended not to care,
Who spit wry words,
Held each other, tight, ‘til out of breath.
Such young flower stems
Its wild glow of street art
Traced, copied, outlined
Now, a simple trick
An effect, a gloss, an ideal, a movement
Applied like lipstick.
Perhaps, it was always a false city
A worm cut in half, too many times
You want it to cry
You think you can hear it, to make a belief.
But, it’s dangerously quiet at times.