Those lights, so blinding, contradict their purpose,
though they light my path, allowing me to walk.
Each step, a thud of progress, actions that transpose
my body along trajectories that I avidly stalk.
Each road, three or four possibilities to choose from,
the profusion of choice available is torture,
at the same time, it is a responsibility I don,
for each choice is an ecstatic seizure.
My feet ache, my head drums with the thuds
of my steps, too numerous to count,
yet too important to forget, for the lust
they procure construct my soul with their sound.
Now, I relive those waking dreams, the scenes
of my memory, the space of my thoughts.
Walking the urban trajectories as a means
to forge slowly my soul. That's my only purport.