We passed by cities,
whose names I didn’t know.
Face that neither miss me,
nor hate me in turn.
The blind landscape,
filled with blind insect people,
who more but never leave.
Trapped in glass, trapped in today,
I want to pick it up and examine it’s many legs,
that reach out, but not for me.

New York was wrapped in gray.
Like when I was seven, and buildings were taller,
and tall buildings still stood,
filled with secrets not yet ripped from their depths,
not yet ripped apart.
I still see you there,
moving unseen between the streets.
Faces watch in the bricks, as we curl and uncurl.

I barely see Baltimore, I am sucked into tunnels.
All the buildings are hollow, burned out shells.
Entire streets are empty.
Two people walk, surrounded by blinded windows.