Vanilla Rains

THE CITY

Spirited tyranny of stone – recluse caretakers of forlorn fixed financial fascinations of fluid assets – kicked around ecstasies and elastic profits – given forth to after work entertainment – alleys and roads squeezed between lofty sky tickling buildings of angel riding brick – slabs of smiles tossed around from one another – as they pass along the sectioned sidewalks and crosswalks – saints and scholars of all kinds – trot back and forth – to roomed worlds – leaving yours to rejoin theirs and vice versa – sets of eyes pat you on the back – or stab – it's clear to us as we note ourselves on the corners of rolled out America – plus our individualism's? – desolation for few – leniency for all unnamed – Mr. Stair set sail this afternoon – on his way to discover the lost page! – the page that clears the clouds of cobwebs – he crossed the sea of city – and found it in the hands of a bum – who ate it! – a virtue indoors – singing cures for the mathematician – architects of men – people and windows of all sizes – ledges and high winds tailored to fit the pigeons and doves – of above – banks and bakeries – restaurants and shadows – glancing grandeur inheriting the slam of a car door – and the cursing of a traffic light jockey – there's a new breed of animal in man today – a dull animal – who now sleepwalks through the city – collapsing into liquid comas in evening – parading the drooping pride about them – until they sense that slang of suspicious and vicious despair of childlike uncertainty – waking itself inside – you see it on their faces – the city reminding them of the eternal showdown – of the junk of days still to come – the invisible conveyor belt of Life – and Time – and the ever concrete now – hanging over their heads – belting them in for a safe ride – through the city.