Philadelphia (Vixen's Den)

My filthy city

Wraps around me

Like a worn-out towel,

Light and breathable.

I am safe inside it;

I disappear.

And the city is so much bigger

Than me.

I am lost.

I can go days and days

And see no one I know,

Or knows me.

At a certain hour of night,

The city is all highway-

A blister on I-95.

The three o'clock air swishes in

The car window-

And the sound roars in your ears.

A beautiful night-picture it:

Sixty-four degrees

And a pitch-black sky

Highlighted by the refinery,

Passing the exits, one and another,

And another,

Each one closer to home.

From here, the city is all highway,

Nothing but cars,

Few at that.

You drive fast-

The night knows no speed limit.

The bars are all closed,

And the city either sleeps,

Or drives.

Take some dozen miles in your life,

Looking for the perfect high

Or whatever,

Some dozen thousand make up your life,

But you go over this same stretch

Over and over again,

Like déjà vu.

Where did you go?

Out.

Exit after exit,

Stiff, tight, tired,

The wind in the window

All that keeps your face off the wheel,

You're out all right.

But all the bars are closed,

And the city's just a highway,

After all.