My America in the Morning

It’s a slow sun
over where I’m from.
with it’s dirty old buildings
and tall trees.

I catch the pocket change rays
through the small hole
in my window
shade.

There are voices
and creaky steps being made
above me.

The smell of food
and rain dew
alert my senses
telling me what it is now time to
do.

Clothes and shoes
fancy clothes, fancy shoes…
first and second glances
at a steam stained mirror
it will have to do.

The wind hits me
the minute my feet touch
concrete.

Onward workday soldier
who has made following the beat
a repititous necessaty.
Walk along non-broadway
and take a seat.

That slow sun
now begins to run.
Noise tracks
over train tracks.
World moving so fast.

America in the morning
so much like zombies
we all are...
it's haunting.

Not dreams...
not the way of lifes
suppose to be.
And Yet...
a tired face can still
muster a smile,
for everyday you don't lose
you win.

America in the morning...
How I long for nights
falling.