In A City Minute

I always hold my hands,
never knowing how to act
on the streets, dark silhouettes,
the wind moving my feet

People , silhouettes in dreams
Steam grills blowing shadows,
the subways below,
melting the late spring snow

There was a homeless man
singing songs I knew,
dully drawing me in,
walking home in a dream

Looking at the street
through the city smog,
wishing on a dirty shooting star,
it may well be a better bet

Stoic Poetry


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