The cityIs touched byMadnessThe cracks inThe sidewalkFilled with memoriesand ghostsWalk through thenightLooking for home
This used to beSwamplandShe saidTeeming with muddyWaterand the sedimentof centuriesA sacred placeWhere the rainsOf the four cornerswould mixBringing tidingsOf great thingsIn landFar away
How do you mournThat whichis no longer feltno longer knownHow do you rememberSomethingthat was never forgotten?
Now the land isrottenshe saidBuried under layersof oil and concretelevees and canalsWhat once was a hometo manyIs now a barren placeFilled with the miasmaof self-hatred andWillful neglect
How do you imagineSomething that is realManifest somethingThat can never beMake love to somethingThat was never there?
The marrow of this placeShe saidhas been sucked drydesicated remains litterthe groundwhite shapes savagelydrainArt Culture Experiencefor their sustenancetrying to stave offthe Yawing jaws of emptinessI must have moreThey sayMore More Moreand their appetites are neversated
Despite thisShe saidWe surviveIn the cracks ofThe sidewalkGrowing up outof destructionIn the notes that leapfrom the Jazz bandsBrassIn the homeswe rebuild and the seasonswe weather
We surviveShe saidBecause we mustThere is no other optionthe ancestors that weRemember impel usForwardTo claim what is ours
I see nowWhere the roadTurnsand resistance existseven if it is notknown