just a poem. from 2004. something is wrong with my shift key.

There, there

Imagine a highway overpass.
You're standing on it,
leaning against the fence.

The passing cars
create a wind
that send your clothes
here and there.

Stop imagining the fence.
You're leaning against air
Just there.

If you look up
you'll be more scared
than if you look
down from there.
----------------------------------------------

Love,
The City

I wrote this poem a few weeks ago. so tell me what you think. or don't I don't care


Dust Collecting in Houses

One disheartening thing about living in a place like this,
with all the hardwood floors, is how fast dust and debris
collects under every piece of furniture, behind every
appliance, in every corner.

It's not restricted to the floors, either. Dust builds up on
the ceiling fans, and even the ceiling itself. It's on top of
the trim over the door- its on the door- the surfaces of all
three dining room tables, and all the way up the stair case
and into the next apartment.

It's the same indoors and out;
Dust collecting in houses
and houses collecting on streets
and streets collecting on suburbs
and suburbs collecting on suburbs
and suburbs collecting collecting collecting.

Another thing is the mosquitoes. Is there anywhere they don't
live? I like the stray cats though. They wander up to the
door now and then like someone you sort of know. Ex-girlfriends
who miss you, but not that much. But not like pets you used to
own. Neither an ex-girlfriend nor and ex-pet would eat an entire dried squid.

And one time, sitting on this porch, I kept close to the citronella candle because of the wind and mosquitoes, but it didn't help.
Eventually, my pant leg proved effective when it ignited and the
smoke drove away all the mosquitoes, the bees, the stray cats,
and somehow even killed the music.
And I didn't feel like moving but eventually even I vanished.