My Urban Life

The east wind blows cold,
ruffling the hair where it
lays against my ears.
It smells of fir, river, and traffic.
My urban life is a friend
with whom I often argue.
I always question my place in it.
Answers are mostly ambiguous and
invariably lead to more questions.
My embrace of it always
carries the undercurrents of desire.


st johns bridge

(Portland, OR: Forest Park–; St. John’s Bridge–

About Jim Stewart

Writer at Butt in Chair
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