between the nameless and the icons
the manholes and the pylons
this is where I belong
under the sidewalk and the power lines
behind the window and the window blinds
there's no room for right or wrong

now I'm standing on the third floor
I can't make decisions anymore
I can't remember how I used to function
they're filling in the trench in the street
the tar smells bittersweet
which is the nature of reconstruction

they're smoothing over twenty years of cracks
as they build more right into their backs
I used to know if this was right or wrong
I'm looking out from the inside
all I want is a place to hide
all I know is that I don't belong