This place, called nowhere
Bullets made for organs,
tears like steal blades
falling from cheeks of
stone; slipping in and out
of veins like snakes
designed to kiss youthful
lips; yet deceit runs a riot
with the the blood cells
Salty water detected by
tongues of little speech
smiling the opposite way
around; to a song with no
name, except, loneliness
In a place where birds
dare not fly, and poets
refuse to speak of romance
A sky so black that white
shades crawl into the
shadows to take shelter
If you do not know of this
place, you are not alive
my friend; your pulse
may be pumping in the
wrong direction, & your
eyelids may aswell be
closed; it cannot be found
on any maps, or atlases
it's a secret that reflects
the irony of it's feelings
with the simple description
of 'lost'; you can find it when
the moon eclipses the heart
& when sunlight is replaced
by curtain rails being
slammed into dead-lock
Blacks, whites, Asians
plus every race you can think
of, are all welcome here
yet they are rarely
permitted to leave
A population of billions
are resident to the
pollution this place
leaves in our forefathers
lungs; & if you still no not
of this place, you have not
loved and lost... my friend.
-Poeta