Songs to the City (piece 1)

Songs to the City (piece 1)

By Terry Scott Niebeling


Not affording a blank page…

These are words on what I love and where I live.


Fall to autumn, a promise of frost and harvest.

We are all locked into our preoccupations in the largest.

Thoughts we offer and give.


Cold as a late September Sunday morning snow;

Water droplets consume me where I stand in a china-white bath naked and whole.

Coming and going, some are strangers some we know.


Our teachers tell us to live.


Smelling of filtered cigarettes burnt-out in hand, smelling like wet trash; smelling of first rate-first class.

Egos swell and expand.


Remnants of booze adorn sweet on my lips.

Care for a kiss?

It’s like rose petals-rose hips.


Faint sting of headache, we pray for a sudden solar eclipse.

An aspirin, coffee, and water diet won’t buck these nips.

Stuff like this only proves that we live.


We sit, what have we done?


The sun is up and has been.

So have I.

The day has just begun.


Where shall we travel  under blue skies?


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