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We are cut off from the green air, black tar, and rubber lungs.
Phantoms of empty chairs and wrecked cars, tears in the fabric.
Power lines cross concrete, and incessant is the oil-burning hum.
We walk beneath shrouded skies, plastic veils hiding the traffic.
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Travelling between the interchanges means crossing a north/south dividing line.
Abandoned street-level storefronts drip with black paint and the rust of time.
I look through the chainlinks and balcony bars tumbling down the fire escape.
Agonizing is the disconnect and siren’s cry in this latched-together landscape.
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We find tire tracks in children’s dreams, and mismatched are the load-supporting beams.
Hope is blind to the eye that sees working hands hammering wooden braces into trees.
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The human heart has been split in two, while arrows point and fragmented words allude.
The human spirit is bold, dented and bruised by the mundane beauty the city transfused.