The City Is A Daydream

The city is a daydream

Traffic is its language

Electricity its heart

Hatred its food;

Love a gun.

For some,

Higher learning

Is to build new walls

Where there should

Be none at all

And, for others,

Being higher is to

Break on through.

Come.

Let’s get out of here.

There are exits like shivers -

Exit wounds, half eaten moons –

Eclectic Hotel rooms, money madness

And music played like a vice.

Here in, ironically, lies salvation

For punks and geeks – black & white.

A University drug store

Inner city fuck circles –

Jen was on a gas station restroom sink

The rhythm ran deep

As cigarettes burned red;

Espresso in the making

Business conducted in paper bags

Not anything of a plastic scene

The boy behind the counter spoke glass,

“Will that be paper or plastic?”

It all spends the same.

Just one isn’t bio-degradable.

Getting laid in a city gas station bathroom

- (“We’re pumping. It’s self serve”).

British rock & roll rules – so crass

Smoking Paul McCartney’s posh grass

Cars collide and crash

Passer byes look at their watches

By the turn style – a glam girl from Pittsburgh,

Manhattan, Atlanta, Chicago - in jeans and lingerie

Time ripens and I know she’s mine – eye sex on the sidewalk

The city is my daydream

John A. Conte JR

December ‘03