City Poem

A while ago I said to a friend of mine that when I travel to the city I feel like the city is a big jelly, or a jar of jam, or something like that, and I feel like a penny that got dropped in the jelly. Like I'm hanging there suspended in an environment where everything else seems to seamlessly fit. My friend advised me to consider if maybe I was actually a penny made of jelly. I liked that idea, and, in conclusion, who knows.


City Poem

Again with the tides,
To the place all things go,
To where we are bound,
Where those without have a home,
Where everything is one,
Whole incomplete mass,
And out of that jelly,
Churn infinite stats,
The source of all hope,
And its lack just the same,
Where the haves and have-nots,
Can't begin to refrain,
From comparing and contrasting
In their shared space;
Their gelatinous collective:
Their pride; their disgrace

End To A Means

Muffled but loud, past the door I hear words,
Not that I make them out, I hear the shape in the air,
Creative license  bestowed on the moment misinterpreted,
I can make sense of it. I was there.

I mean, there past a wall, pockets of air space divides,
Past rooms with windows, sealed shut from outside,
But even considering, that meagre tidbit of fact,
I saw their shape in my mind and my mind had to act.

I see what I heard and I know what I found,
Interpretation is mine, in my mind, that I mined,
For any loose change, any mineral rich ore,
I seek from the word shapes I see beyond the door.

But the everything I know is comparable to naught,
And the meaning I communicate is powerless and gaunt,
The you that I know is not the self you project,
The word shapes through spaces my mind can’t inflect.