The city rules all citizens in its realm. Like an iron goddess of fertilty it pushes you with an invisible hand, demands from you a sense of purpose.

You can walk the streets all day and all night and not hear a polite utterance. Your heart thrists for warmth and your skin wants someone else’s sweat. Instead you find bloody wounds, muddy curbs.

On the third date, semen flows through the door lock. Love went from candle lit dinners to bedroom then bathroom. Ended with flowers crushed by bricks. The sidewalk the only third party witness when accusation danced with innuendo.

You brought your whole life with you. You have dreams where the halls are filled with faces and you run towards the only mirror. It’s a journey from the past, a dozen other mysteries in your mind. You could find a solution if your tongue was not lodged between her thighs.

The cement and the crowds teach your soul a lesson. Love can bring rebirth but cannot secure survival. That’s why they invented telephones. Scarves and mandolins have lost their utility.


Copyright 1993 by Timothy Herrick