Dear 20XX
I will miss you
The City made the City. A self-perpetuating collage of buildings from assorted magazines. Sodium lights trespassing over snowfall. Spotlights and helicopters in Pennzoil dusk. The City holds service when a beggar freezes to death on a grate covering an air vent. Then swallows him into steam tunnel intestines. The City holds vigil each time a man prays to unlistening God. Says fall here, we’ll catch you. Then goes to sleep.
Are you comfortable enough to ask questions about the dead? When we’re dead do you think anything will change? Or will it be like flicking a light switch, realizing the bulb is burnt, and changing it quickly? All over the City there are windows with lights on and off. With people looking in from the streets. Lights go on and off everyday. No one considers the lights being off or on. If they are off they will be on later. If they are on they will be off later. If the bulb is dead it will be thrown away and replaced. This is the testimony of Ezra.
Sometimes I am Henry in the morning. I am always Henry in the mourning. While Ezra plods beneath the rusted el with testimony pinched between his arm and ribs. It feels biblical. The way he proselytizes for attention.
TRUTH AIN’T NEVER NEEDED NO COURIER spray stained onto the overpass along with hot pink concentric circles slid off concrete. This is the new age…
