the detailed devil

going back to 2007 again, i found another one. a long one, at least compared to what i seem to be writing now. i opened this because something i was writing today reminded me of it. it's interesting to me to look at the differences.

EDITED

now, the very long one (deep breath):

Walking Winter City Streets

Wandering the city soulless,
The titans drifted to home towns
And snow gently perching on
The paths, reclaiming the
Heated shuffle of the day
To layer white upon concrete uncontested.
Late night journey into the subtle
Emptiness.

I trudged a trail well knowing
Snow conquest would have
Her buried in moments of night.
I stole looks at pairings left
In quiet city, sitting on
Couches in their homes.
Their paths not yet buried,
Tiny prints and large,
First walking side by side
Then sliding, enjoying
The frictionless sidewalks
While thinking of friction in
Warm-sheeted beds.

I wished then that beside
Me on the winter nocturnal
That some starry-eyed reciprocator
Cast with delicate features
In night-light moon-binding
Would match my stride and,
In a moment of nostalgic
Love of childhood fun just
Slide.

But such gems of lovers
Vanished at the thought that
I was not lonely in my
Solitary wanderings.
The snowfall beauty was my
Mistress– Seeing her dancing
To settle was enough.
Her shadow cast as falling,
Black dim flakes rising from
The ground.

I imagined wandering in the woods
Of my home.
No longer afraid of the vicious
Fangs of darkness, having
Become so much a part of
The silent proceedings.
Etched upon my face the
Marks of many journeys through
Those different streets.
I could walk with the coyotes
Of my home, not waking
Them from slow talk pondering
Under the awnings of the brick
Churches.
I carried that hopeless musk
Of unfit yearning.
I was no longer an intruder
In their darkness, rituals of
Survival– an outsider, but
Knowing slightly, enough.

The target of the trip,
Laced with neon signs
Singing of “Lotto, Slush, Phone Cards” –
A quick stop masked by
The gravity of walking, a
Moment forgotten staring into
The mirror of concrete snowfall contemplation–
A root to reality.

My path burned with fragmented
Verse, pace quickened at the thought
Of scribbling down so madly, to
Capture the mind’s ejaculation.
To describe the beauty of those
Slide marks and the imagined
Lovely words and smiles on
The lips of that sweet, small-footed
Girl.
The snow had not masked her from me.
I cherished her–
Bent on distilling her minute in the snow
Into words, to bestow upon her love
She’ll never know.

Only the empty doors, opened into the
Metal shining elevator, know,
And maybe the bums hidden under
That brick church awning–
They are the silent watchers
Of the unreal night world,
Marking the paths and siphoning
Thoughts of the displaced day-time
Travelers.
Let them know of my love,
And note that I was not
Cold in that frozen world,
White under fresh fall.

what an unabashed romantic i was back then. that was written over spring break in ann arbor. everyone was gone. the laundry room had burned down. i had nothing to do. it was amazing.