spy museum
maybe all these footprints are mine
a guy riding his unicycle through a pile of crunchy leaves on the sidewalk
I think to myself
I will live somewhere like this again
is sight seeing in Washington DC the last thing I wanted to do?
does that mean I have already
done everything else
that I am already done
thinking about it later
bored
peacoats on the playground
a house with white bricks and a witch
flannel sheets and tootsie rolls?
mainey disney and milk duds?
matching bunk beds and kit-kats?
I never thought I'd see a brown scarf again
watching the woman's hand hold a cigarette
from behind the big, dirty window
thick like the glasses of a friend
who really can't see
and because they are your friend
you can get close enough
to see just how thick
they really are
what is this feeling?
of morning in a coffee place
with the sun and a song
I don't know
but basically know
is it rare?
or is it me
a sash and rusty scissors
a race-car in the window
a store that gets no business
There are days when I feel like
the crust on my eyes is glowing
and days when I feel like
a fat, inedible pear
cab
a smile
and a yankee hat
and a yankee hat
"This is the noisiest bar...
it is a garden beer"
loud voices
I see sunglasses leather jackets
braids
I just braided my hair
"to Baltimore"
janky
ladies with bags telling loud secrets
and looking around making eyes
at me and the lines
everyone ready to board the aircraft
everyone up in arms
flying west
where the sun is still setting
past the popeyes and the carpet
through the cold, heavy glass
it's dark
with an orange horizon
bye to fall and to home I didn't go
I don't know
I don't know
emo-tional
it's always like you're on the only plane in the sky
no one should do anything strange
even standing instead of sitting
is suspicious
imagining all the little lights below
as one vertical Christmas house
