A Room With A View

These spent sidewalks holding pools of atmosphere
in their blacktop grasp are miserable alive—

  Step by step,
    breath by breath,
they are staring up,
gasping beneath my feet—

         (The memories here are plastic,)
         (the cars are stones)
         (and the people are old negatives.)

Running, muscles pull tight,
      lungs prickling,
      throat sticking;
    I am stumbling through these reflecting pools,
         ozone clinging to my heels,
         white clouds stuck to my shoelaces
         and viscous blue soaks the cuffs of my jeans.

Gradually the sidewalk gives way to thunderheads
and I'm still here, searching for a room with a view.