This city

by on April 8, 2020 :: 0 comments

This city.
This city, with its gorgeous dames,
And square-jawed men of the night.
Where we hug people
Because that’s what we do.
And then unknowingly
Cut them off in traffic.
This city.
Ever more neon
With each new erection.
Of a new tower.
That features
A meet & greet
Every Thursday night.
So you can figure out
Who to like and hate.
This city.
With the history it can’t shake
Where we punish those who wish to embrace it.
Everything’s fine
As long as it looks fine.
Pay no attention
To the man behind
The cardboard sign.
This city.
How do cars end up
Upside down
In the middle of the freeway?
We’re in a hurry
To get everywhere and nowhere.
Only to look at our phones when we arrive.
Sure, I’ll have a drink with you
Out on the restaurant patio.
We’ll kiss each other on the cheek
And say goodbye.
Until next time.
This city.
Where art hides out
So as not to be bastardized.
Where love hides out,
So as not to be exploited.
Where sincerity
And an awkward but honest
Lives under a bridge.
This city.
Is a city I love.
The unpredictable
Turn of events.
The pain.
The acts of kindness
And homicidal mania.
The music. The euphoric music.
The faces.
The cars.
The seductive skyline.
I could perish on any given day
In this city.
But I say,
‘Fuck you, city’.
I’m not leaving.
Try to make me.
I know you’re crazy, but I love you.
I will stay by your side
Because I’m flawed, too.
Who knows.
Maybe I’m worse than you are.
But you’re mine.
I’ve taken you as my concubine.
And there’s nothing you can do.
People flee from you
In sadness and despair.
But not me.
This city.
I like the way you
Try to play the upper hand.
But I have news for you, this city.
I know the score.
And you’re my bitch.
You don’t know me, this city.
But I know you.
I know you like
Very few others know you.
I look at your veins
Glowing in the night
White and red blood cells
Flowing in and out.
On that freeway,
Where egos clash.
I see your heart.
Buried deep.
Under concrete and steel.
You hate it, this city.
That I know how you feel.
You hate it, this city.
That I know what’s real.

– Kevin Christensen

editors note:

Mine. Yours. Every? – mh clay

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