And my arteries run;
they race with the streets,
my depth chasing the lines underneath,
my arms chasing my dreams.
I lift each line,
the horizon
my jump rope,
another, another, another.
I am the city
and all the hearts are as one,
all the sin, all the love,
alone, all shared never alone.
I am the city
and my abilities stretch to the sun,
while in this Garden State
regrets line in streaks, rubbish forlorn.
In a dream Walt saw a city invincible
and now this Whitman here does rest,
as I do too, to be built upon,
to see over the horizon
while another, another, another
and another lily is born.
Each me, you turn into yourself, us,
the city.
For poet Nick Virgilio (1928-1989)
of Camden, New Jersey
Published by Hobo Camp Review,2018
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well conceived and nicely brought forth in persuasive poetic expressions with conviction. An insightful creation.
Chinedu, thank you. Your kind response means much to me. Best to you. Joe