liminal cities are my lifeblood,
the only places i go.
small towns seem fixed, steeped in warm traditions
and weathered family names.
i prefer change. i prefer the boisterous pretense
of comings and goings.
i choose trash in the street and strangers
in the grocery line.
i prefer fresh stories to familiar ones.
at times i even find comfort in my reflection,
nearly unknown to me, changed
after a few nights in these secular sanctuaries.
i am always in motion.
propelled by an endless stream of planes
and trains and cab drivers,
escaping one city for another.
different names but the same destination.
i maintain a malleable memory of events and timelines.
even my own history seems a distant tome to me, lost
to the deepest sea.
and i’d gladly
take a ticket anywhere
before i accept a settled normalcy.