18 April, 2008

this land of glass and stone

captures warmth (between

the storefronts of a thousand

investments and hopes)

where three, four, five

pairs of hands are one unit

familiar.

This could be ours.

Small ears and sticky lips,

our heat caught and reflected

timelessly

(and oh so selfishly, in

an era where a man lone

and afraid is a thing distasteful)

Land of hypocrisy, its mask

this bustling and wholesome

square (someday, someday, our endless

whisper) We will be too distracted by

a New Life to notice.