City
City as I run through the honey
combed maze of my mind searching and
yearning for memories, I run towards you
yet you vanish in the crowd that jostles
me for feeding on carrion crying raucously
for what is mine but isn’t, like a park
only if you see graffiti in your special
place you feel like crying carried along
with the crowd into the recesses of my
mind, a slum district, where every piece
of excrement tossed my way stays
(vengeance being mine [for here there is
no god to protect that which is holy and
pure]) But I don’t want to be taken over
by the THING that is me but isn’t
because I don’t like it and all I want
is to be myself, who else could I
possibly be? Miserable, perhaps like a
cement covered lawn painted green.
©1990 (Originally published in Nostalgian)
Psychoterrierpy 