This street, my Clarkson street,
I know you are not pristine
You are dirt and glass and tall grass
You are 1888 and 1892
You are self-realization and unconditional love
But I have seen you slam yourself to the ground
I have heard you scream without thought
And fire gunshots into the city sky
I believe in the collective whole, we scaffolds to masterpiece
I have hope, I am colorblind
I am music and the beggars story
I am bounded by Mount Zion's love and the comfort of a warm meal
You have given me my life in one longitude
You are my backbone and my love's resting place
11 August 2013
