H. Town: A Poem

If these city blocks could talk, would you hear the hollow echo

of my soul’s soles,

edging around the lonely buildings,

thru the twisted and deformed night?

The streetlamp spotlight,

and a little slice of neon –

pierced atmosphere.

The slanted, pale red brick,

now crumbling and blackened by fire.

The stiff, blue mechanics of alleyway night,

crooked neighborhoods, dividing tracks, and road.

Masked by the golden Sunday sunlight,

this town is as pure of an example as anything,


and rough.

Superficial, sing-song birds pilfer thru car washes,

and seek salvation on power lines and in other bird-way terminals

The halls, shops, liquor stores, institutions etc.

all have twisted paths that lead to


The hills have eyes

but so do the streets,

with their piercing stop lights, headlights,

bright lights, night lights –

This town stabs my soul with the pitiful remembrance of a strangled youth

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