i always thought that friendship was meant to have
a set of rules to keep it from dying,
a form to fill and sign to say 'you're in it for the long haul'
but i guess that now it's more about meeting in empty parks after months
and crying over how our fathers never learnt to love us
without actually talking on the daily.
probably i shouldn't be so hard on myself for thinking
nobody loves me anymore for not texting first,
it's a millenial disease; at least it sounds like that.
maybe friends are for the rough and the good,
and the few that have the guts to stick around everyday
are trying not to break their own necks.
maybe this is growing up, i don't know.
urban hitchhiking and underestimated mythology
as i walk through boulevards
and the sun begins to mount its way
back to Japan,
there's a slower consideration
in the boiling pavement
that lies beneath all my wishes.
the further away i get
from the subway station
the more the ground seems to breathe.
homes get bigger and plentiful;
no signs of the newest addition
of gray concrete, straight lines and estranged facades:
instead we get artistry,
a roof filled with ancestor's best intentions
mirrored lines and cracked bricks
to bring out the lemon trees
and perfume, peeking in from behind the fences
a sense that there's still some soul left
to this part of town
that for so long i felt like it could never belong to me.
as i stand on top of the bridge
i see how the sun fights back the windshields
the speed of sound coming in waves
and how much space
is still left
to dream.
i want to remember these streets by heart;
recite every name like a mouthful
so it'll never lose the quality of being misunderstood;
auxiliary to the greater good,
the final steps behind the highway:
the soft tissue behind the grayed out, green
areas sold to the highest bidder.