These old and dusty streets are my own,

A net of pavement stretched across main street and the highway,

Feeding the heart of the big city.

You’ll find me here.

Grew up with a quaint mix of everything:

Black, white and yellow;

Rich, poor, and shallow.

I made acquaintance with the low lifes,

Called the addicts and losers my friends.

I’ve known the outcasts, wannabees,

The geeks, the jocks, and the plastic queens.

Moved on, moved up, and moved out;

None of them ever knew me.

I’ve always been just a pirate on the fringe,

Wading through the tide of disposable characters

And paper-thin setting,

Fishing for meaning in a sea I filled with the garden hose.

This water comes from somewhere.

So trailing around and trying to move on

From whatever it was I started,

I’m still the captain of my lost ship.

The wind has blown, the crew has flown.

I shout the commands to myself:

Raise the sails and look toward the sea,

Weigh anchor. Turn the guns in.

The cannon roar sounds my turning away;

I make my home in fire.