Clayton Burkhart adopts the view of an anonymous wanderer in this mythic city and speaks of absence and loss against a backdrop of steel, stone, concrete, and neon. It is a story of love and redemption after the rain falls, when the damp sidewalks take on the saturated colors of the night.
Down here
on empty avenues at 2 am
where sleep is impossible
and the meter is always running
every siren is for you
stretching out
into blackness
of so many lost
tomorrows
here where all
the young lions
eat up the sidewalks
with fierce
devouring strides
and the wolves regroup
before making their way
uptown once again
leaping from lane to lane
at every outstretched arm
yellow fur gleaming
trying to fill an insatiable
emptiness inside
some strange kinship
in our parallel solitudes
time will not be denied
the only solution
is to keep moving.