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A great adventure
is about to take hold of me,
in the form of a strong wind
and half moons over trees
and the brick homes
of a thousand unspent dreams.
It bears the scent of a new age
and an unharvested wisdom,
petals on the pavement
where I walk
like a pregnant prophecy
and a shining city unconquered
mature and experienced
but virgin
to the brand of magic
that pours words into my prayers,
open for conversation

where I, unnamed,
unknown and untested,
am surrounded by icons
and iconoclasts
heroes and hustlers
healers and hopefuls and Homers
the nine-to-five-just-to-get-bys
and the Fortune 500
cruising the edge
of the structured madness
within the 45 speed limit
along the lake shore,
a few shifts of gears from ready
to infuse my rhythm into
these sophisticated streets
and mean traffic
uncompromising and destined
to penetrate the heart
of the metropolis
like a bullet train
levitating over tracks
forged in legends
and uncorrupted suns.

“Gran Via” by photographer Carmen Hache


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