Public Jazz
I trip to celestial rhythms
gliding over the cold steel
of the el, watching
birds sink into grey skies,
absorbed in wind,
the Earth repays us kindly.
North side rising on the East,
moving, roaring, roaming, revolving, pushing: back.
Interference creating a static pound in the quiet air,
gliding past holy shrines and faded signs.
City of Love has covered her streets
in orphaned material,
seeping deeper below wind burnt pavement
where I fell and lost my, my…something.
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