I search for meaning in your brittle streets,
like an elderly woman your stories have become dusty and gray.
Lackluster hips have abandoned their curves for rigid plains.
When I tasted you then, your quivering hopes
smoothed my mortal song.
But the years have taken away the crisp dampness of your skies.
Tears have dried to salt paths on your roads.
Buildings digress in conversation, whispering of better times.
The church stone’s green a slippery salvation,
further suspending my belief.
Smells of rotting dreams n corners,
fleeting specters lurk in alleys,
you’ve let us down, you’ve let us all down.
Sinking deeper into your cavernous wasteland,
I wonder if the charred remains of
your body are actually paved with my own
fleeting moments, the monotony of years,
a veil of misfortune making it difficult to see
as my mind decimates this place with engendered ennui.
