there is an elegance to streetlights;

like someone took stars and hung them from the earth,

carried the mystique like a bayonet and lit the giant’s pathway north.

i can still hear the ringing of the cars,

a sweet symphony responding to forgotten conversation and mythical stares,

like shiny young hipsters lost in the glory of the mainstream or two stupid kids who (i hope) could feel more than just the moonlight,

but somehow i doubt it.

somehow i doubt it,

because anthem way and metal bars and terms of service and cars and streetlights give way too fast to one sided feelings and never seeing anyone ever and talking once an month and listening less

there’s an elegance to streetlights;

they paint the way for giant’s footpaths and traffic-jams and radio music and rhapsody

such is the road to chicago

such is the road to hearts

such is the road to feeling and forgetting and not wanting and living and dying and screaming and crying and laughing and listening and never talking and never seeing and never really feeling like they care, even if they do

but, i think there’s some hope left for our tumbling little world;

i think there’s an epigram that reads all your names alongside mine

i think i can dig it

i think i can bring my friends more than a streetlight ever could

or maybe not.