Bright City

I often feel at home

within the steel-sewn walls of a moving

vehicle. I watch the people on the bus, faces nonplussed,

travelling to places within  the motored steeple they trust. And

it feels almost lyrical. The purring of the engine whirring through

this urban centre of something SPECTACULAR. And the seatbelt cradles

me, I’ve never felt so safe, you see. And even as a K.F.C. melts into the blurring

concrete night, my bright eyes meet the nurt’ring windows of the folks behind the

faces, crowded round the T.V. sharing jokes in their dimly lighted places. And! Bright City,

me, you embolden. In your eyes, I blossom golden. I’m wise upon your shoulder,

and more as I grow older. Even when the nights dull your blaze as the days show colder,

and the streetlights meet fights from kids who’ve forgotten how to glow bright

in the eyes of their beholder. You’re the world, Bright City.

To me, you’re almost spherical. I often feel at

home within the steel-sewn wall

of a moving vehicle . . .