The City Screams In Whispers

because I am wary of strangers,
of the faces they make
with their animal shadow limbs,
the dumb show of their lives
cast over sidewalks, fragments
of territory defeated by motion.

You've seen eyes speak stories
in a second of passing then close
the lids of their humanity, and Lord
knows why would I want these
fractures of displaced air to bloom
into knowing your cracked coffee mug
or that your striped shirt
is missing a button?

So keep moving with whatever
conviction you've prayed or painted
or politicized into a rubberband philosophy
that snaps to the next attention,
and I will too.