no percentage of walking a dog
or needing a cigarette,
but maybe some eye contact
and a hug.
these streets have too many names
and numbers,
we have not enough songs.
I fight
with my brain
to delay this sadness,
because life is good,
but suddenly the air smells sudden now.
I am used
to where the days go,
when all we did
was harmless
under heaven-touching high-rises.
Searching for someone
searching for me;
what happens after the headlines fade?
no more darkness,
hope you made mistakes
which lead you to me.
the trail truth follows
is a curse made up
of all the things we crave.
I fight
not the scene
or the hopeless fireworks high in the sky,
but the mundane things
in between dreams and taking off my jeans.