Concrete Stagnant Air


      concreate stagnant air - craig daniels

It gnaws at me, the stagnant air. And I chew at it, hoping to lessen it’s weight pressing upon me, surrounding me, scrubbing my unconsciousness sores till even casual onlookers can see resentment tattooed on my face. And believe me they’re looking, some even ogling as I pass by on my walk, to I don’t know where.

existing this moment upon unforgiving sidewalks

rolled out concrete ribbons continuously

rising up to slap me with loneliness, sucking life

from me with radiating hot damp heavy air.

feelings confined by bounding brick limestone soaring high.

desperately I tug at my wandering imagination

before traveling down naked alleys.

proposing marriage to empty gutters, begging not to be swallowed.

lost in a city far from anything I know.

As I walk the uneven concrete sidewalk I seek solace in repetitively thinking lemon aid, thinking iced tea, thinking cold cold water but thoughts have no power to banish the stagnant air’s hold on me. I’m coming apart at the seams and any help there may have been has long ago disappeared behind windows painted black, to hide the coolness.

motherless children spit edgy breast puffing obscenities as I pass.

pitiful birch trees pretending to mellow,

but instead crack the sidewalks.

agitated passengers crawling from underground into

caverned facades their self esteem exposing open sores.

red canopies shade gin soaked dwellers

remarking to themselves how foreign I look.

I walk, pissing tears conjugating bits of memory

pressing toward something I don’t know.

haunting beautiful girls and boys turn away

busy building neurotic walls.

vendors close doors pretending to nap.

no white clapboards with green shutters pointing the way home,

no hula hoops nor backyard picnics inviting me to leave my troubles.

no cool night air giving me dreams of lost touches and gentle kisses.

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