Someone once told me

That when walking the streets

of Italy, you can sing 

any song without being seen 

as schizophrenic 

There are no intrusive

stares, no white vans to 

cart you away, nothing 

more than a whisper 

or concealed smile

Imagine! 

Me, skipping around 

this ghost town blasting 

opera out of my lungs

and dust off the pavement

awakening all the hungry 

souls who dare to 

dream of the world we wished 

we lived in, 

in spite of the one 

we live in now

Imagine! A swarm 

of gnarled hands

reaching out to tap my shoulder

just to see if I was real 

so they too could 

open their mouths and 

join in the song

they thought was 

insanity before they heard

their own voice in the chorus

and that is why

they cage the lion 

when it roars, 

because 

behind cinderblock 

walls and metal posts,

no one will believe

he is king 

of the concrete jungle.