the texture of paint (i wonder)

i wonder what's in the city today
if any eyes will understand
as glances accidentally cross over
through the illusion of my vanity
created by light and glass

i wonder what music i will hear
from the crowded air
that struggles to take a breath
among the lies that breed so deep
into our streets that they may as well
run for president with ronald mcdonald
as vice

i wonder if the world will really end
next year in a conclusion that leaves
us all dumbfounded like one of those
fucked films that claims independence
just because it tried so hard
to not have a hollywood ending

i wonder if i will even look today
to see if the sun is out and alive
and calling to me to run like a
bandit who stole a final chance
to be someone who is more than
a forgotten reflection of a 10 year old
rehearsing to be an amazing life
in the bathroom while
his parents were out

i wonder if i will ever wonder again.
i don't know if i want to.
i don't want to wonder in poetry.
i want to walk and run and feel
and know.
and not know and that
be ok too.
i want to live like every moment
is pressing flesh hard and strong
against a brick wall in a dark alley
with a backwash of rain from the roof
showering down and making us clean
and dirty all at once
and when someone sees us
they will not know if we are fucking
or fighting...
and it will be none of their buisness.
i want these things.
but for today i may just make it to the next room
to see what's on tv...
and notice if the sun is out or not...
but secretly i will run my fingers across the wall
and think of you
as i settle for the texture of paint