Writing Poems With A View Poem by Daniel Y.

A long morning with a notebook
and a scalding cup of coco.
Full o’ the milk of life.
The window framing my world
for so many years
suddenly seemed new.

The orange horizon told me a story
in fewer words than I can say.
The capital on a hill
shouting to the world.
I dissect its amphibious skin.

Sitting in a sill of a metal anthill.
Through the smog hopes to show
the jagged
line of building-shadows.
The worker ants tripping below
spewing words on one another.
Art has no place here.

Above their ground-smelling antennae,
the magnificence shines.
The rare day of clarity.
The music of the bustling morn’
falls on the backs of deaf creatures.

Under such magnifying glass
the grudge and grit
in my white shoes fit.
The hazy image clears.
Like grey fields, dotted in taxis,
the labyrinthine streets covered in pollen.
Gridlocked.

Replacing the stale miasma,
like a coastal salt-wind.
My journeying bathrobe wreaks
like paint chips and concrete.
Never have you thought
about the cost of memories,
the wet bullets of tomorrow.
The gale of change,
is silent for just a moment.
O, city!