going downtown - into the fog gray city,
level sighted, walkingabruptly through the streets,
tall gray buildings under opaquesmog,
I hear their music, their pleas, their bells,
the water'sleft running, going down the gutter,
in my median there's countrysideand mountains,
but here there is fullness of dirt and filth,
longdays, everlasting years, on the corner now,
this place is without alullaby,
sighs and rusty guitar and steam in the street,
a jaggedpuzzle placed roughly together,
it's still decent, for all itswear,
this is the getaway from peace back to truth,
busyschedules, sky railways, litter,
the beauty comes in anotherdimension,
within their eyes, their broken dimmed eyes,
and therest with heads high just walk by,
their regulations, segregations,my compassion,
two different worlds into one divided bylocation,
this place is its own lullaby.