I had a friend
who, grown on corn in south Texas
lamented the lack of people
for she saw
only dry land stretched like a fried gut spotted with tumbleweed
I had a friend
who grown on concrete and painted faces, bricked up in city smite
longed to rid herself of bussle
walk out into emptiness like
a star explorer 
I knew both the longing and insilubrious pull 
of city magnet
its desolation and feeling apart in a crowd
the surge and still 
of expectation and liquor 
I knew the raw blister of
a pure and scathing emptiness 
nursing a need to create syllable of void 
two extremes, no unity
can betwix between as jugglers, relieved of balance will continue motion
I was born in cold city breast 
disgorging from its loins the dour faced babes of 21st century ad-lib 
my elbows broken at gold vein
between reaching and closing off
crowds or empty skies? 
noise or bird call? 
city folk looked agast as I packed into concertina, the music of my life and let it out in one sonorous exhale
how will you bear the solitude? They asked
nothing is more lonely than isolation in a crowd, I replied
but what of the museums and new trends and restaurants? 
I can live without the majesty of men, I said
It has always seemed inflated and grandiose
there is more meaning in a dessert rose, than anything we in our dominion, believe worthy
we are spectacle at best, a blight in our thirst to take up all the room
the richest man is one who inhabits an unkept land
with all the wild flowers come into bloom