by Malachy Moran
The city hums.
It vibrates with the energy
of desperate souls
each trying to squeeze
every drop of joy
from what will probably
be one of the last warm days
of the year.
I read
that you shouldn’t know
where your poem is going
before you write it,
which feels comfortable
because I never seem to know
where I am going anyway.
I am swept up,
carried along
by words, by crowds
to distant unknown places
dusty streets and
dusty phrases.
I am tumbled down
into gutters or off rooftops
blown out by the wind
to fertilize foreign lands.
Some day
after months or
maybe years
I will settle
and I will become soil
for sturdy, rooted things.
© Malachy Moran
Malachy Moran is an American expat currently residing in Norway. A PTSD survivor and recovering drug addict, Malachy has lived too many lives already to believe in reincarnation. Hopefully this is it. Malachy can be found hosting and performing at poetry open mics in Oslo. You can find his work in the forthcoming winter edition of Anti-Heroin Chic and follow his journey on Threads @malformed_poetry.
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The Amazine Community 
superb poem! It encapsulates the feeling of real life. You captured it beautifully.
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