You Know What I'm Saying

A bright day is good for the heart,
it adds clarity to thought, if you're so inclined.
You know what I'm saying? The way the day
blows some radiant debris over the corner of my eye,
like an angel. Wait, it's not a vision,
it's concrete dust from those guys
jackhammering the sidewalk
on the corner of Baltic and Henry.
Keep it real. You know what I'm saying?
I think of you in the most feeble
way, where I almost feel guilty about
the way I'm doing it, which is not much
at all, because this poem is about me. So
I begin to walk, and as I walk, I see things
that are very interesting; it's why I live in the city,
you know what I'm saying? There are so many
adorable things to see that my brain is bulging
at the seams like a fat thigh in tight jeans.
The city sparkles caffeinated silver so
I caterwaul with a face full of sun for kicks
and bloom into something radiant and sharp.
You know what I'm saying?