if the feeling was a word you'd
be spilling the letters out
of your subway mouth like a martyr.
a name,
a place,
a first date for
the last,
candelit bars & cigarette smoke,
bourbon the drink of choice & a
scribble of salvation on a
bathroom stall wall. but oh, oh
it sounds so amazing, this blankslate
life, highway lights reflected off wet
cheeks & pennies sucked on for warmth
when the spring doesn't come. tangible,
reachable, cities are for lonely people
(and you pretend you've got it all.)