ode to the tenderloin district

the stillness of the moment
stretches out
across my chest
down my arms
and out my fingertips
across the street
through alleyways
with lack of rain
and plenty of piss
it rolls along the peds
with low hanging heads
and the static ladies
in high-rise stilettos
looking down
from heights much greater
than they could ever realize
it brushes against the junkies
and they shrug it off
like a bad dream
that only lack of sleep can cure
it rolls under the thousand dollar
handmade italian loafers
pieced together by asian hands
with feet that will always be to small
to wear them
it goes bang bang
and no one turns their heads
or looks up
it seems to just go on
and there’s no need
for it to return to me
because it’s never left
it’s just happening
all the time
the stillness
that seems to cancel out
the perpetual motion of the street
and it’s terrifying
and impossible
there is no greater comfort
i have found
than to follow it
for as long
as it will let me


Submit a comment