between the nameless and the icons    the manholes and the pylons    this is where I belong    under the sidewalk and the power lines    behind the window and the window blinds    there's no room for right or wrong       now I'm standing on the third floor    I can't make decisions anymore    I can't remember how I used to function    they're filling in the trench in the street    the tar smells bittersweet    which is the nature of reconstruction       they're smoothing over twenty years of cracks    as they build more right into their backs    I used to know if this was right or wrong    I'm looking out from the inside    all I want is a place to hide    all I know is that I don't belong