Blastin holes in the night till she bled sunshine...
-Mos Def
Look at the city: what you always knew, street corners sparkling, buildings gaping, crumbling, murmuring something about a past that wasn't; a past that wanted to be. Your life is here, and the life you want. Their life is here: the curbside mob. Dirt, trash, faded glory; look. Life washes against the city
And look at the people. People you can't even see, people as platitudes: heroin addicts, dealers, hustlers, students, cops, old, young, broke, rich, speeding by; the city flies. People who could be those things and aren't, and how would you know?
Your imagination knows.
Think about what makes your heart beat: the thin line between order and chaos, mine and yours, sense and nonsense. A man: hooded sweatshirt, sees the siren, ducks to look at a menu, retreats--looks but doesn't check the price.
The city watches, sees, remembers. It lashes out.
The nexus
between this world and the next,
boredom:
bright lights at dusk,
between the tracks of squealing tires.
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