Avenues and Streets

I break hearts. To my dying day I’ll live the life of Riley like my Southern folks say. In a way. I know it ain’t straight, but it’s the best that I can offer when I’m living at this rate. My dreams? They crisscross like Avenues and streets, city blocks in New York, demons and angels on the beat. Concrete. Supports the bottom of my feet in a deteriorating world I age to find my Self complete. Or completion. I need a good reason to battle the cynicism that drains my optimism. In a world. That knows no other bounds, but sniffs the Way for shortcuts like we’re all Basset hounds. And these sounds? They permeate my meaning, until the last kick and a snare, I’m on the dance floor leaning. And daydreaming. About these avenues and streets, a maze of silhouette buildings and asphalt-driven heat. I eat. Just to stay alive, but for what, I’m feeling lonely mostly and working is a rut. But in my gut. I know onward I must move, like traffic and rolling wheels down these streets and avenues. I rap the blues. I wrap the sin within, can’t call on myself anymore so I’m always reaching out to friends. I make amends. With the God who is my savior, straighten up my posture and correct my ridiculous behavior. Now back to labor. Or laborious activities that dampen my true spirit and dim the nascent inequities. Of classism. Am I among the strata, not walking the walk, but contributing to the chit followed by the chatter? The mad hatter. He was full of ideas, but what good is their foreboding if they’re locked behind a coding? Self-loathing. My pockets filled with hands, my own, the governments and now even my own medical plan. All grasping for money, so in my back pocket I carry receipts, keep myself a-movin’ down these avenues and streets. You sow in order to reap. My feelings of disdain, will only stand to grow if I continue to feed them once a-gain. My pain. I’m looking for it to subside, so that I can arise and live out the passion that’s inside.

I’ll stop here; this could go on forever. . .