The City
I find a certain melancholy
in pavement, in its gray
simplicity, love, too,
the monotony
of streetlights, the break
pause,
and gas of machine
There is chaos in graffiti,
its rainbow language
that coils over walls,
second cousin to
the nausea of billboards,
everywhere
the sadness of this city,
the labyrinth of crowds
twisting fervently as
mice. The filtering down
of silt from rain through
hair, under trench coats,
rolling down spines
into shoes.
– Francesca Bianco