Liberal poetry: "last visit home"
under this bridge at night on a quiet bus the subway scratching into my soul as it rumbles overhead and the bus stands still, i realize all at once that i do not know anything. i look at the stone foundation and see graffiti, tags lonely in hallowed light grass patches half-dead, the streets picked empty. this bus ride home to the city at night is a wholly different ride the light filtering out of range as people, in their slumber, dream and i have beautiful music in my ears i will play it again and relive to retell. earlier in new jersey passing by the airport i looked into the scenery and shuddered at the sight of the runway's lights (in glass) floating in the sky: perfect pockets of light to help people find bare strips of tarmac to help me swallow the night and soon this ride will end. looking to the right, i can see this gorgeous dark-silk city/ after this trip, i will have seen kids playing on dark streetcorners, the shadows at the base of bridges and the cracks, pizzerias on brilliant, deserted streets and more dreams that burn like gas smoky and hovering above this bus in the urban nitesky
by Lena Sze |
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