The shy, reticent poet
quietly watching
for any inspiration
cautious observations
of people
footing through
urban chaos
everyone
looking around
watching out
for # 1
the business man
the street hookers
panhandlers
feeling and hitting up
the tourists
for a buck or two
with hope for future
with dreams
for renewal
mayors and unions
in picket line
fighting over
this or that
& my eyes seeing
it all gone down
with unbridled interest
Mind gone astray
seeing only
a few pretty women
and itβs Saturday
& shops open
restaurants emitting
their pleasant fragrances
to offset urine
on skyscraper walls
The shit & blood
is passed off
as typical
of the city
18th & Walnut Street
Chinese & fast food
all Asian fantasy
seeing urban dwellers
drifting by
& hearing
police sirens
chatter on
the evening air
unspoken all the thoughts
just milling around
observe & record
all the events
unfolding before
my eyes
roses sold; audio tapes
on a sidewalk
street lights turning
jaywalkers
eluding motorists
& all seems
so absurd
in some surreal
sort of way
but the city of Franklin
& liberty
is unchanged
from a week ago
but the cobblestone streets
of Colonial times
are forgotten
the wretched smoke
& exhaled fumes
of automobiles
are replacing
the quest for independence
with all the
games played out
circumstantial evidence
to the contrary
tired of visions
& glances caught
from other folks
just stay under control
avoid any
kind of fraud
or danger
no oral vocal display
but words
singularly expressed
onto the page
in mock form
of communication
Impressions
A city. Any big city. History walled like graffiti. The poet's meadow. "It was my first sunflower." A walk as a journey. "cautious observations"? And then the pen falls to the page. - one of yr better spillings. ~allets~
.
I've spilled a lot over the
I've spilled a lot over the years and yet the glass keeps getting replenished