On the corner of 1st
and nowhere,
The scent of roses and poisons
drifts through the air.
The souls who truly see me
beg for a dollar or a smoke.
Even when I don’t
have them anymore.
And the feathered clouds
that twist above the city's towers
don’t care as much
as God and I do.
Growls and whispers
linger in the doorways,
and a thousand earbuds play
a thousand private songs.
I overhear walking endearments,
arguments, and deals.
I see caps and hats and hair,
long or gone or blue,
the shod and shoeless,
rags and suits,
miniskirts and sports gear,
ragged beards and lipstick.
I'm watching the little man
change from red to green
at the corner of now
and nowhere
where I've sometimes found
the connection
between the pedestrian
and the sublime.
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