The surge & still

I had a friend
who, grown on corn in south Texas

lamented the lack of people

for she saw

only dry land stretched like a fried gut spotted with tumbleweed

I had a friend

who grown on concrete and painted faces, bricked up in city smite

longed to rid herself of bussle

walk out into emptiness like

a star explorer 

I knew both the longing and insilubrious pull 

of city magnet

its desolation and feeling apart in a crowd

the surge and still 

of expectation and liquor 

I knew the raw blister of

a pure and scathing emptiness 

nursing a need to create syllable of void 

two extremes, no unity

can betwix between as jugglers, relieved of balance will continue motion

I was born in cold city breast 

disgorging from its loins the dour faced babes of 21st century ad-lib 

my elbows broken at gold vein

between reaching and closing off

crowds or empty skies? 

noise or bird call? 

city folk looked agast as I packed into concertina, the music of my life and let it out in one sonorous exhale

how will you bear the solitude? They asked

nothing is more lonely than isolation in a crowd, I replied

but what of the museums and new trends and restaurants? 

I can live without the majesty of men, I said

It has always seemed inflated and grandiose

there is more meaning in a dessert rose, than anything we in our dominion, believe worthy

we are spectacle at best, a blight in our thirst to take up all the room

the richest man is one who inhabits an unkept land

with all the wild flowers come into bloom