I was walking on the sidewalk
when I found myself reflecting
’bout the future, ’bout the phantoms,
’bout the chance of resurrecting.
I was looking at the pavement
while I weaved and slowly wandered.
I was stepping over cracks
as I peered down and deeply pondered
about moving, about staying,
about living, about dying,
about leaping off the sidewalk,
not come down and start to flying.
I was dreaming ’bout the kisses;
’bout the slow and holy dances
as I drifted down the sidewalk
trying to calculate the chances.
I looked up to beg forgiveness
from something far past understanding
for my choices, for my longings,
for my overwhelming planning.
I was listening to the voices.
I was lost in my reflections.
I was slithering down the sidewalk
back and forth in all directions.
I was humming to my footsteps.
I was singing like a siren.
I was driving through the darkness;
all my cylinders were firing.
I was searching for a secret;
knew somewhere there was an answer,
‘tween the cobblestones and cobwebs
and the glowing neon dancers.
Through the molten August evening
I was following my shadow
as it stretched out under street lamps
and became all that seemed to matter.
On the ancient Roman sidewalk,
past the columns and the arches,
I was burning like a fire,
marching out to light the darkness.