deepundergroundpoetry.com
The City
The streets have no names
in this shadowless city
parallel avenues running
symmetrical yet;
unapologetically paradoxical
one next to another
immitating the limitations of
mapped perfection.
Flickering sparks in the dark,
feigning democracy of the soul.
The crossroads are X’d
balancing the past with the future
and the Y’s run to end-
less streams of consciousness
paying forward debt of fools
branching from bitter roots
mindful of landfills.
Bullet holes stand against time
monuments of obsolescence
purposeless
in infiltrating the dubious light
titillating the horizon
betrayed by forces in harmony.
The only true light burns:
in various shades of opalescence
dancing on the surface
giving, taking
mimicking fiction
of bones as vessel
to conquer new worlds
searching for rain to put out the fire
beneath the season-less sky
and
a killer roams
planning the perfect murder
in this city
in this body
pounding on an empty pail
silently repeating something
I try to forget.
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