The City Is A Daydream
The city is a daydream
Traffic is its language
Electricity its heart
Hatred its food;
Love a gun.
Is to build new walls
Where there should
Be none at all
And, for others,
Being higher is to
Break on through.
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