The City
I walk a net of rigid safari roads,Trafficked with tigers and mules
And other circus figurines.
I tiptoe between the scuttle of individuals,
In the rustle of loneliness.
Only the hybrid dwell in the city,
With such grins and sinful imaginations.
Everyone casts their eyes to the ground.
Heels stamp candy wrappers and coke cans
Into a large collage of litter.
The velvet smoke curls corners
And beckons and chatters with newcomers.
At sunrise, I watch clay goblins
Wander home from work
And drag their wearied bodies in single apartments.
Even phantoms roam the corners
Of the cloudy city street.
The sun spills to illuminate
The hieroglyphics of chalk graffiti.
Color that contrasts the oily shadows
Of the dark dead-ended alleys.
I never stray from the rays of morning sun,
Or the dim halo of a lamppost,
Light leads the way in the city.
In the city,
There is never any symmetry.
Only the cracked and powdered faces
Of sidewalk life that I pace past,
How they love to amuse me
With their trembling terrible minds.
Poetry by Shawn Monahan
Read 773 times
Written on 2008-02-01 at 19:38
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