I’m watching the cigarette puffs,
as you blow them forcefully from your mouth.
I’m shivering as the night creeps into Oak Cliff,
Sitting amongst the forgotten felines, sifting through truth.
Dallas grass holds your ashes,
the Foundry’s gravel lining, the Village hills,
the skyline lifts your discontent.
When you believe in shiny surfaces, expect disappointment.
The mothertruth fooled us all,
if we are perfect, why are we so malleable?
The blistering shadows of too-tall buildings,
the hopeless wanderings down empty streets.
Hold your beer to your lips,
disguise your face from fear,
refuse to feel another,
believe the truths you repeat.
We belong in this cleft city,
clinging to our cigarettes,
torturing our insides as the officials report,
another successful street sweeping, another
emptying the overflowing ashtrays,
we fill them up again.