Rooftop Reveries

Nebula threaded ripples
through a tapestry of asphalt
We lay our hearts out
sealing sanctums of Life

Dealer on the road
Trusted friend of mine
His steel wool face
tortures girlie thighs daily

Addicts require spaces
to hide midnight scores
For this we create
the requisite exalted worlds

"Working girls" rely on
the faithful bravado of
the street tough brawler
who desires to be a poet

A Spirit laden wind
Refreshes our thoughts
in the inferno of summer
that makes the tar shimmer

It brings echoes of
forlorn steps on filthy concrete
relished by we who grin
at Absurdist self assumptions

The Roofer, the Enforcer, the Pusher
Each Initiates of  the Mysteries
Occasionally share a bottle
with Specters in this place

Our thoughts flow
toward undefined existence
exemplified in silence
between libations

Tomorrow, molten tar will flow
Many little bags will be sold
Copious woman flesh will be caressed
The filthy destitute will be removed from bars

At this snug, strange Crossroad of the Sky
We toast all of this and whatever else may come

Author's Note

Just an experiment in style.

Reviews

[johnnyqueer]

The first stanza, was absolutely beautiful! As was the rest of course, but what a wonderful beginning to a extraordinary poem. You have such wonderful flow, and each stanza is so bold. Amazing.

[Kaylor Mason]

I'm fortunate in that I never grew up in the inner-city in Chicago--I was on the outskirts. This poem is unique in that it captues reality--not a romantic reality--and it doesn't glorify it, nor condemn it. It just sits back, pours a tall cool drink, and accepts it for what it is. To the people who don't live in high violent crime zones, these places are only things they see in movies and books (the reason Winterheart Memoirs was a sci-fi fantasy was because I knew I couldn't write real life in the ghettos and slums here on earth; I simply never lived there. Cops and criminals and anyone who knew the streets would've laughed at my works--so in order to give it plausibility, I made Chicago Eaves.)
To the children that live in the inner-city ghettos and slums, those places are called by another name: home. Kids born there, if not by the grace of God, are pretty much doomed; and they know it too. I think a lot of honest, "decent citizens" [knock on wood] really miss that in this world. Take away all the drug dealer's connections, take away the pimp's brutality over his girls, take away the gang members' colors and their automatic weapons, and many people will be amazed to learn that those guys are not "criminals", not scum of the earth; they're human beings, no different than anyone else.
That's one reason I know, deep in my heart, that I would never have made a good cop. I can't bring myself to see all crooks as animals, I see them as real people.
Now politicians, on the other hand . . . I might reconsider :))

[Whisper]

the last line speaks deeply enough to me that I registered.
{_}D cheers.

[Veritatis Cupitor]

I'm at a loss of words with this.
Truly a spectacularly written piece that details raw truth in a surprisingly monotone way. This isn't a piece driven off of emotion. It's a piece excelling due to great diction and imagery.
Content itself saddens me by the end, makes you disappointed with the mindset of man. Anywho, good work here.

[Dewella~Vintella]

I liked it, though it was different, very rough, yet had a touch of elegance to it, Which is hard to pull of in some cases. The word flow and imagery was wonderful, as well as the emotions that came along with it as well.

Wonderful job. Keep it up. ^^

Vinny~