Tuesday 1/16/2007 12:20:00 AM

We were caught in a crease of fat on the belly of this town. Now a city. Completely official. It has matured so poorly. Always with the sirens. Scrambled eggs and heart attacks for breakfast.

There's everywhere to go and nothing to do. We were supposed to have been alone by now. Discarded like the empty bungalows that choke out from the sand in perfect intervals. All the small towns grow big eventually. And all their children turn into city people. Creating scenarios of escape while they sit in the traffic jams.

I want the countryside where I can ride my bicycle safely down the center of the road. I want the crickets to sing me their lullabies.

I want the emptiness of the city without the weight.

The evolution of a metropolis is an ugly documentary. A cold education in just how many people we're making.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2021. All Rights Reserved.