The Tao of Utopia - An Urban Exploration Poem
Stopping far from a level concourse behind a mahogany door
to a room where a girl poses for a portrait on the floor
between a large book and a crooked television.
Her gossamer night dress hasn't been changed from in nights and days.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?