~Impossible Dreams~


passing over
the city lights
a visual orgasm
as I imagine
taking flight

the colors
they seem to
flow into
one another
twisting
and turning
electric colors
red, orange, yellow, and green
the purple and pink neon
washing me
making me
clean

smoke stacks
bleeding
butterflies
telephone poles,
and cable lines
listening to the
squelching wheels
and the scream
of muffled horns
as the train
rolls down
the yellow line

paper filled
dust piles
and garbage bags
the remnants
of our greed
and consumption
advertisements
of the some
punch drunk dreamers
the smell of
spray paint cans,
antifreeze,
and the throw out
from some lonely
local filled
Greasy Spoon Cafe

I witness
the art of
creation
as some
spray paint canned
concrete
and metal warrior
paints Impossible Dreams

only to be
interrupted
by the
red and blue parade
of cop cars
flying by
the air of
paranoia
rains down
like pin nails
from the sky
its then
our master
drops his can
and retreats
to the comfort
of the shadows
absent of daylight
so as not to be seen
by the radar
and night vision
of the helicopters
spotlight

pop

pop

pop

a car races
through
traffic lights
kicking up
tiny bits
of paper
and the refuse
of some
forgotten dream
you know
the empty pop
top boxes,
gum wrappers,
and discarded bits
of cigarette cellophane

a dust cloud
like a
miniature tornado
twirling and turning
spinning back
into itself
and down again
gently settling
onto the ground
just lying there
like it had
never taken flight
or danced the dance
like some
hypnotic contrail
with no
airplane
in sight

the squelch
of tires
fills the air
with the stench
of burning rubber
filling my nose
and burning my eyes
so I dip and dive
so as not to be
the victim
of another
victimless
drive by

I make my way
around the corner
headed for my
favorite midtown bar
I just want to
relax with some
good conversation
reveal my scars
spend my night drinking
then walk that crooked mile
only to awake
in the morning
head splitting
with this
deafening ring
piecing together
the late night events
no matter how strange
its then I remember
the dancing lights
and the mixing colors
of the city at night
our spray paint canned
concrete and metal warrior
painting Impossible Dreams
does it all fit
into the grander scheme
it leaves me
with the question
am I free?
or would I
sell
myself
just
to
be?