There is an Art whose pulse can still be felt
Along Main Street headed East,
And I get it…
how you could view the chaos of this intersection as something to be despised.
Old candy wrappers mix with leaves along the curb-sides,
The broken shards of Heinekens glaring green light from the gutters,
The daily choreography of crossing streets avoiding eye contact,
Terrified of small talk in the elevator down.
And I make no excuses for the silent tacky war of bumper sticker politics,
of SUV’s and outspoken sedans missing hubcaps like front teeth,
exchanging their “cease fire” stares just as the lanes begin to merge.
But every day this city is the canvas and we Are all just colors mixing onto it Never really knowing how the whole thing looks.. The stories of acrylic As complicated as colors get.