Las Vegas sounds nothing like the meadows.

There are nights that
remind me of the city
and when those certain
sound waves hit my aerials
I have an urge to
close these blinds
from red, to black
to the old ways.

Like when I jumped
the wall in those
black, baggy nineties
pants that had more
pockets than I had
heart at that time,
to smoke
my first pipe
while listening
to what I considered
'hard a*s s**t'
with my brother
who was long
lost to a higher
social syndrome
before I even
knew what
that meant,
really.

And now, all I have
left are stories and
wavelengths, and
sometimes I could
even say smells.
But, he never had
much of a smell to him.
But I remember how
purity would gather
on his upper lip
when it was hot out.
And how the only name
I ever had was 'sis'
and it was reserved
for one single person,
to everyone else
I suppose I was
just a b***h.


Sometimes,
it's nice to
remember
the city
like this.
Otherwise,
all i remember
is the sin city
gutter bullshit.