Philadelphia sunrise,
New York commute, drive.
Asphalt rivers and train track streams crisscross.
All the people on the interstate divine,
Exit to salvation says the next sign.
Rubber circles flowing into that grand metropolis lake.
My radio is still blaring and reporters are talking.
Campaigns for war and public office.
News for little nowhere towns and big city blues.
On the streets, they’re bumping elbows and scuffing up shoes.
The mad dash to coffee shop, malt shop, and liquor shop.
All sit side by side with the day care center in the middle.
Teenage hip hop with business man and traffic cop.
Infant cries, wives waving goodbye, and husbands looking up at
skyscraper skies.
Now the lions roar in suit and tie atop their steel and glass throne.
Say how do you do there stranger?
I’m lost up in the rat race too and
oh, that little baby in a manger.
Doubt he ever looked out in the dark with the glow
of a cell phone. Stars cost too much these days.
It’s the scent of ancient pavement and moss keeps up a steady
race with a rolling stone.
The clock is ticking and I need to be somewhere.
Back to work, back home, back to the agenda.
Bohemian dreams drift in the surf of the Northeast,
Filtered down to Miami and Mexico.
Palm tree desperados are napping their days away
while little lambs are playing in some scorched schoolyard.
No, that’s not for me my friend.
The bright electronic pixels and lines, digital and viral.
Screensavers of my paradise are taunting me.
Every office lament and florescent bulbs are flickering.
Click and snap, keyboard and printer jam.
Online pyramid scheme and somewhere a radio gently croons.
Clenching a crumpled up dollar, but please brush the sweat off your collar.
My feet hurt and a clock strikes again.
Saxophone and piano in the elevator shaft.
Taxis honking and pedestrians barking.
All the music of civilization, society, and social network insanity.
Pulsing and never taking a breath anymore.
I’m not a fool, just caught up between lions and lambs.
Looking for my purpose and meaning, not lower calories in my beer.
I’m just dreaming. My memories and my desires are mixed.
Scholars hunkered down in their battlefield of books,
Doctors in a hospitalized madhouse of people with sad and sorry looks.
Lawyers trotting down the street with the so-called elite.
A farmer is rocking back and forth and gazing out on tiny prairies.
Every profession is not for me so I’ll make my own.
Kisses and love, alcohol and television, gas prices and expensive clothing.
Oh what’s it all worth anyway?
Take my chance and find out later. I’m the lion and lamb.
I’ll pass on the office scam and opt for my alternative plan.
Why wait and kill time, I found my message.
New York sunset. Philadelphia night.
