city sounds with muffled eardrums

pretty words
pretty things

when i close my eyes, 
all i can see are colored spots on the back of my lids, 
bursting and renewing,

like we are infinitesimal 

in this small world

and i'm sitting in the car, 
head turned away from the driver's seat, 
legs braced against the floor to absorb jerks 
as the tires jolt over manhole covers and dips in the road

the streetcar lines, strips of metal embedded in the street, 
are uneven and not in line with the yellow boundaries. 

i wonder who put them there. 

once i was in love with this place, 
but recently i'm just disenchanted with the entire thing. 

streetlights flash and flicker dimly, 
warm yellow illumination 
but you can't erase the shadows of this neighbourhood
as the blackness seeps into the edges and under the carpet

faint yelled cusses, 
loud in the silent night, 
distorted by the window's glass

and i remember barely five minutes ago, 
with my sneakers against grimy sidewalks.
graffiti strewn across the various brick walls, 
cartoon spray-paint vegetables, 
"fear" in large blue capitals, almost washed away by now

nobody ever told me this was where i grew up

but there's people
and the smell of varnish in the air as people spray chairs outside
with the sweet scent of pot hanging here
and the lit end of cigarettes in shadow-strewn hands, embers bright and red hot, 
quirky shops smudged and cramped into space. 

here lies home. 
here lies everything i finally see. 

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed