Orlando (next Cities poem)

Orlando

The air has no holes, it has nothing to give,

boxed in like a package of months undelivered

the air is a dead siren fading green grass from palms

At night the city lives on open walls and ceilings,

and the air is a curtain for a show of cars, and characters,

and moving anything for the spirit, alive and beating

the next punch for the best of lights and life

By day, the city is gated communities or additions

when you try to keep out the past, and yet raise the dead

such a one as this, a luxury to being free, every flight

dotted with pools, and Piggly Wiggly, and those lights,

that air, sweet as after a shower, and putting on appearances.