Saturday, November 2, 2013
By Jason Motsch
We sat in alleyways telling stories.
Some of us cried, our tears flowing freely through the twisted streets,
gathering into puddles, the drifiting wind rioting across their surface.
A flock of birds suddenly take flight and the rain comes down,
scattering stones into gutters, washing the sad streams of memory
down the roads and into the waters at the city's outskirts.
They are now part of the ocean's vast and timeless form.
We are this place, the pavement, the canyon-like streets, the lines of sky above.
Most importantly we can become the dreamlit signs showing the way.
Glistening pavement in a new sun, mingled with our bright voices now washed clean,
Causes a song that emanates into the sewers and drags the homeless forth. Walking outside
and led into the sunlit alleyways by a one-way, right turn only, and a free parking marker,
They wait and tell stories