En route

    I can’t remember
    If and when and–
    Did I tell you?

    That it’s a windy day
    Where I am.

    Dainty slivers of twig
    Tip-toe a pained ballet
    Over the cobblestone and
    Asphalt mix of
    The sidewalk off 6th.

    “Let’s take a walk,”
    I’d suggest.

    But I don’t.

    I’m alone
    On a park bench where
    The yellowed cigarette remains
    Beneath my bare toes
    Make an ashen nest that
    A little too slowly for comfort.

    It’s a beautiful day.
    With a breeze, no less.”
    I’d say.

    But to me?

    The city steams.

    It’s smoke clouds
    Carve out a delinquent place
    For people like me.

    You know.

    Those who
    Stare a second too long
    And smile at thoughts
    In public
    That are only murmured softly
    Inside one’s head.

    When I swing my legs
    Above the gum-darted pavement,
    My bones crush.

    Fighting against one another
    In an agonizing scrape of
    A mis-aligned brass zipper.
    Brother and sister
    notches gnawing at
    Each other’s skeletons
    When an October breeze blows by.

    It’d make you cry,
    It’s autumn already?”
    When the scent of dead leaves
    And fireplace embers
    Already soak the air.

    But it smells like burnt sugar.

    Street food’s drowning sleepily
    In oily wombs.
    Oh, to grow up a perfectly rounded
    And sweetly dusted donut.

    $1.00 in change
    And I’m gone. Sold to a dirty
    Palm and with a primal
    Ripping, salivating, swallowing-
    How nice.
    Until the nausea kicks in.

    It’s like when my phone rings
    With the hum of your voice
    And I listen and laugh
    To the sounds of my own gagging.

    And you innocently ask me:

    “I can’t remember if
    And when and-
    Did I tell you
    What I ate today?”


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