While solar light gets mummified
from being shot and brought on slide,
the city – field of frozen corns
with ears too blunt for traffic horns.
Emotions tense – no pops, nor flakes,
since sense is numb and heart – pinched ache.
Life moments – mating with each other,
but no one cares who’s real father,
because reality is born
each time the eye’s unfreezing corn,
whenever harvests flood the streets
and steps keep feeding strolling feet.
A touch – vibration from beneath –
the subway-train is grinding teeth
and rats are looking for quietude,
since night – means feast, a magic flute
to lead their noses straight to trash
till garbage trucks will swallow mash
and end the passage for the gorge.
The face of city hard to forge,
to alter pattern of events
and squeeze from dollar couple cents.
So I am breathing through its smog,
so easy here to get bogged,
so tough to find the shades of green
on glassy, paved and urban scene.
So many faces passing by,
so many questions – who am I?

September 3, 2008