to soul places

There’s only so much of this city that I can take.

With its fake women and fast men

And ready-to-go-just-pop-it-in-the-microwave relationships.

The coffee is good though, but hardly warm enough

With the cold of these shiny metal chairs

Piercing through the denim seat of my pants.

And must I go on about the stifling heat and the grime in the air

Which I imagine must be leaving little black spots

On my alveolar sacs even as we speak?

I never can find refuge here.

Not even in that space where I imagine myself resting in your arms.