Thursday, November 19, 2009
I brought you out on the rooftop not to jump but to stare. Here’s the city, in all it’s everything. Neat cornrows of brick houses. The jagged Lego of office buildings. Right there is where I lived when I was five. The walls were paper, I was afraid of the neighborhood kids, and my dad broke the tv during the World Series. Over there’s a cloud of smoke that billows. There’s no fire and it dies. Come back tomorrow and we can fly kites, pretend the end places of roads.