Submitted Date 04/12/2022

the city's windows sigh as they lay down their labor of carrying the loads of light
into the brown buildings; inky nightstain
creeps up the walls inexorably; concealing
the cracks and broken bricks so aged

I wander up and down the lanes
my eyes crawling over the sidewalk
in front of the library where children spit
their chewing gum; they melt like multicolored splats until they eat the soil
of undershoe

the air is chilled gossamer
winter has not retreated to its northern
icy castles yet; the sun's love comes up
from the pavement and my feet are warmed
this is the between-twilight; a border town of the clock.

border towns are wild and lawless places
and this chronological one no less
for I can imagine anyscene's negative stamped upon these streetcorners
these gritted-teeth witnesses of life

no left-brained, gunslinging lawman
fires his slugs of realism at me now
he slumbers with the ruins of the day
dreaming his dreamkilling anew each night
emerging with the working dead at dawn

I am free to see a skinny giant holding light
aloft; I can dream awake the window-eyes
staring down in mute approval-glow
while hushed voices of family-feedings
erupt betimes into laughing glee

here my hemisphere of right turns
the mural-man into my flashy counselor
I trade wisdoms with his painted mouth
while his eyes are living joyfully
his short hair fading into lighter browns

I see the circle-portals to the world that I call Understreet; I imagine its tiny denizens
rushing about at many tasks
to keep our city's clockworks trouble-free
their oilcans are straw-stuck pomegranates

my mind may change the racing fire-wagon
into a mobile party-engine
blaring loudly the call to play
its apple-lights are festoons of festivities
while guest cling to it with happy hats

My city transmutes at the gloaming
I like it better then
switched off is my stream of worrying
my child-world springs into living fun
and my feet ache like laughing long

Brady S BowenI like pretty words.


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