Eastern Industry Zone

I could not control myself.

How could I control the changing topography of the city around me?

Infrasonic infrastructure, a rumbling groan heard only through the feet, the sounds of chains and construction, and we stand alone in the Eastern Industry Zone.

Nairobi superhighway a study in grey. Bologna. New York City. Tomorrow comes today.

Deadened flattened railway station where time was once stopped at 10:25. The Party denied all involvement.

Brolly-bearing platform man calling out a contemporary woman's name. Strangers all behave the same under the awnings as the rain sweeps in from the restless Dalmatian coast.

New buildings going up as old ones come down. Soon I won't even know this town.

Caribbean to palm to flame, marseille to soleil, exclusively ours, genius conveniences.

Brutalism promenade closed for renovations and the stately dome is ringed by steel and scaffolding and corrugated stone from the Eastern Industry Zone.

I've been Thinking About You Often Lately

I've been thinking about you often lately.

My feet walk the streets of a city that's not my own.
My career and the fear that I'll wander these streets alone.

I've been thinking about you often lately and our tireless embrace of the oldest clichés, the time that erases the places we stayed, the back alley shows and the old videos, the memory albums never arranged, and all the vacations that never came.

I promised you England again, you promised me Spain, and after more places than we could name.

I've been thinking about you often lately, how I'd only follow you so far, how you'd curl in a ball on the sofa, cat-like purr, engine hum.

The mildest frustrations would turn into love affairs in the warmest stares.

Is it too late to renew it again?

In The New Year

Sterling eyes, they surprise, the passing past just a pack of lies, and yet it's weighing heavily on me.

This time I vow to be everything I'm supposed to be.

I'll lay it down and finally get it right this time in the new year.

This time I'll fall in love, enduring til the breaking of the high tide on the rocks that hold my weary bones.

This time I'll pass the days in a drunken dreamy angel haze, in a warmer world with a crystal glaze on the steeple top in the new year.

This is the year where I'll spin in sync with the world.

This is the year where I'll take things day by day.

Through Days of Endless Time

Found her sharing messages, couldn't get anything done.

She wanted mirth and admiration on moving walkways.

Days drifting parallel and futuristic thoughts: that's what was sought after, that waiting laughter through days of endless time.

Slung up in a citadel, compartmentalized connections and lovers in urban environments.

Can this be my wallpaper? Can it exist in real life: a shower of sunlight on grateful gardens through days of endless time?

All networks broken, couldn't get anything done.

She wanted more than was on offer, than what I could grant her.

Boarding now and thank you much for keeping company and giving me some of that waiting laughter through days of endless time.

 

Hidden City Ticketers

A couple of suggestions came in down the line. We were making faces with our eyes glowing.

J'ai failli tomber.

Hidden city ticketers, haunted from the first, lovers on the wrong coast in a pocket universe.

J'ai failli tomber.

Would that we had had met at a different point in our lives, and you never meant to leave and I had only just arrived.

J'ai failli le trouver.

We were making faces with our eyes glowing.

Like Storm Petrels

Lately I can't deny that I feel my age, a moldering soul soaring over an old earth.

A net of wrinkles has caught my brow. Each trip is one less trip to take.

Plaintive loons, ugly goons, like storm petrels.

Blackened eyes, the wind still sighs. White sand glories gliding over tide nestled in the crags cut into the rockside.

Plaintive loons, ugly goons, like storm petrels.

Waiting at 10 to 9

Divisions divisions, splitting and splitting again.

My life choices, what do I make of those?

Cortados and macchiatos are the lonely highlights of my long days.

At the apex of summer, the sundown glows glittering gold on the wrought iron towers of plenty where the capital business is sold.

Waiting at 10 to 9, sunlight streams over atria gleaming and moves with the passing of time.

Waiting at 10 to 9, record high scores and plaza accords, and everyone says they're just fine.

Decisions decisions.

Calfskin feet tap silky discrete rendezvous code at the bully bar where bulls meet in bull-headed times.

Salonica Blues

The people and their shadows change places colonizing the forgotten spaces.

Once a city for all, now just for one, but the architecture remembers.

Once drank tea in the desert, desert soaked into our skins, but the desert always wins.

 

Someone Somewhere

Beat and verse, some of us live our lives as a dress rehearsal for a show that never comes.

A signature time, you built a family that was just right, the way it's meant to be.

Parting directions, November song, a map to guide the rest of us to where we belong, and someone somewhere has felt this way before.

I had this idea that every time I traced my way home you'd be over my shoulder with the best way to go.

And someone somewhere has felt this way before, someone somewhere.

In The Right City

Last night I dreamed of the right city before me. I kissed my love goodbye and rode the trains at night with the right city outside, and I could not be happier.

The right city wins the odd championship, and the museums stand adjacent to the buildings and bridges, and in the pride of the night crooked steel arise, dirt and refuse on the walks outside.

My home overlooks the waterways, facile eyes passing me by, and constantly the people all look at me in the right way in the gardens, and I could not be happier.

And I found my love in the right city, I found a good job in the right city, and I could not be happier.