i am a back alley wanderer
looking for the realism
behind carefully manicured lawns
weeded within an inch of life
forgetting that life lives in the mislabeled
notion of what it is to be a weed.
i am a back alley wanderer
looking for the truth
in the garbage that piles up
next to blue bag recycling
wondering how you live
and is it really that much
different than the eggshell crumbles
filled with coffee stained discussions
that fill up the conversations that i have over worn wooden
light streaked tears.
i am a back alley wanderer
tripping over a dog barked fence
faded basketball hoops
dangling from long gone
boy dreams and chipped paint
worn from your hands.
i am a back alley wanderer
looking for magic
in a flashlight light bulb
left by a distant race of people
who swam with the fishes
in cities built under the ocean.
i am a back alley wanderer
looking for the words
in the lighted pathways
to bring me home.