I like its big city awkwardness

Its not quite thereness

Its not quite anythingness

Its got no new york bigness

It doesn’t have a big apple

It isn’t a windy city

Or a la la land

utterly lacking frisconess

no French quarter, no left bank

just something becoming

a somethingness

I like its ordinary otherness

And lack of oneness

I am in the middle of its formingness

Its relentless evolvingness

Its Old parts poking thru new parts

Its under the highway Goatness

Grazing on its greeness

I like Its souless becomingness

Something that can't yet talk of itselfness

Its Long acres of asphalt blackness

cracks and crazy oak shadowness

old bloody roots pushing strange fruitness

I like its easy loopy drunkenness

Its brighteyed cluelessness

Its late night no where to go-ness

It’s right here nowness

Its Whatever you make of itness

Its uneasy selfconsciousness

But the part I like bestness

Is riding my bike at nightness

Right Down its auburn avenueness

In the midst of a dusky hued brightness

Straight into the heart of the lightness

Of a city that has yet to be

 

by the Itness boy poets