So it's been ages since I've updated, mainly because I've been toying around with the idea of starting a new photo blog. What do you think? (If anyone's even reading this anymore :P)

I'm thinking it'll be a way to get myself taking pictures and writing and expressing myself so that my creativity doesn't get bottled up and it doesn't build up until I come up with one, super-long spurt of poetry then shut up for the next 2 months.

Exhibit A:

Inner City Soundtrack

Feet to the pavement, eyes on the sky,
We're hit by the wind as the city moves by.
It's five steps, for me, to the cool marble floor,
And God knows how long til you're out of the wet.
The red paper lanterns, hung from the trees
Make me feel that maybe they're something you'd see
In the cold of the street with your hands in your pockets,
While melted ice cubes are draining my wallet.
It's heel to the stone,
Now that I'm on my own.
Was it this much of a maze for you?

As the radio tells me a storm's on the way,
I can't help but wonder if you've started your day
With the awkward silence in the engine's roar
As the people with passes make their way to the core
Of the skyscraper jungle, kilometers deep
Does it feel the same where you plant your feet?
The cars on the tarmac soak up the heat
Of the drivers who use their horns to speak
A language of sounds with no formal code
But the meaning of which they all seem to know.
For the lack of a volta, I wish to digress:
I'm no poet when it comes to traffic.

As the doors close behind me with a pressurized hiss
There's a kind of excitement that permeates this:
Hands on the steel, backs to plastic chairs,
As we breathe in the temperate recycled air
And the city flies by behind a glass frame,
I wonder if, for you, this feels the same.
This could be a side effect of the musical self-medication,
But I think it's a lame attempt at some claim to connection
Through poetry penned by an unskilled hand
As it remembers its grip on the bars and rubber bands
I step on the platform to make my way home.

I wonder if anyone would ever have known
That a step into the city could have filled me so quickly
With this confession of sorts of my own -
This need to relate
Even the commonplace
To a companion, as yet, unknown.