Tuesday, January 17, 2012

the 18th floor

This place makes me feel new
But a bit reckless and characteristically resistant
A bit official
In the way that an owl might be
Perched up here, no fear
Not that I have many
Fears, that is
Maybe a shark attack
or a plane crash
I sit here and tell stories
To myself
And listen to songs
Watch the trains go by
It hasn't been long but I miss it when I am gone
The light is magic
The river runs through it
Always moving, churning
Waterfront lands in metamorphose
Tar, log booms, falling down docks
Tall grass where it can find space
Empty parking spots dot the lots
A rusty fence lies in semi repose
Old trucks and trailers
retired but not forgotten
The creosote ties maintain order
While crows and pigeons reluctantly share the air
Traffic passes and nary stops
The bell rings at the crossing
Antique street fits all that's unique
Pillars and pavement
I embrace this place
My memories are clear
And so is the future
It is here

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