Vakay by Joseph Briggs

I know now that I can
only understand a city
in the dead of it’s winter
with street lamps blazing,
can only understand a city
during it’s brutal June heat
that fills every pore.

When the affluent leave
on first class flights
searching for a perfect
everything the meat and blood
of a city remains,
the faded flannel ripped blue
jean city, the half-deflated
beach ball on the lawn city.

This is the time I fall in love.

A deep love that is the
temperature of smoke,
snaking around like
empty avenues with rivulets
of tar holding them together.

This love moves and pulses
when it wants through me
and can only surface,
make itself known,
right now in this city.