On Traveling Some

I never did much traveling.

I fear that I am one of those people

that hate to leave the comfort of the familiar,

but I did travel some, one slow summer,

in the supposed Masonic Capitol of the New World (Order).

I saw the cracked obelisk that stood with no

reflection, in memorial, with you

by my side, my weeping Willow,

willowy friend, who rose out of the sea

of unfamiliar faces, pouring out of the

metro gates, a new Aphrodite born

from the roots of Redwood with lips that taste like Juniper berry,

that tell me no one here waits at the top of

the escalator, like in the movies,

but it was so sweet that I did.

I say show me your world and we witness

the two faces of the district. I saw there was

no hand from God in the Glory of man,

Reason and Rhetoric were made new gods, and their images were

painted in Roman fresco out of statesmen and

diplomats. I wonder why there are no

tall buildings downtown, not like New

York City, not like Chicago. You tell

me there is a worry of snipers in this

city when buildings get too high. I need

to remember this city is filled with important people,

more than just this one weeping willow tree, more than

just the daughter of a redwood tree, that

is crowned with laurel leaves. You show

me a city that dies every night when

the suits all shuffle silently, en masse, across

the Potomac River when all the work

is done, over moules et frites and rosé we watch a city born

again by the light of the setting sun on U

street, where hipsters and trannies walked the

same streets as you and me, on the

way to Wonderland (the bar) where you

say: This place reminds me of home.I never did much traveling.

I fear that I am one of those people

that hate to leave the comfort of the familiar,

but I did travel some, one slow summer,

in the supposed Masonic Capitol of the New World (Order).

I saw the cracked obelisk that stood with no

reflection, in memorial, with you

by my side, my weeping Willow,

willowy friend, who rose out of the sea

of unfamiliar faces, pouring out of the

metro gates, a new Aphrodite born

from the roots of Redwood with lips that taste like Juniper berry,

that tell me no one here waits at the top of

the escalator, like in the movies,

but it was so sweet that I did.

I say show me your world and we witness

the two faces of the district. I saw there was

no hand from God in the Glory of man,

Reason and Rhetoric were made new gods, and their images were

painted in Roman fresco out of statesmen and

diplomats. I wonder why there are no

tall buildings downtown, not like New

York City, not like Chicago. You tell

me there is a worry of snipers in this

city when buildings get too high. I need

to remember this city is filled with important people,

more than just this one weeping willow tree, more than

just the daughter of a redwood tree, that

is crowned with laurel leaves. You show

me a city that dies every night when

the suits all shuffle silently, en masse, across

the Potomac River when all the work

is done, over moules et frites and rosé we watch a city born

again by the light of the setting sun on U

street, where hipsters and trannies walked the

same streets as you and me, on the

way to Wonderland (the bar) where you

say: This place reminds me of home.