Wednesday, January 18, 2006

pick any of 3 directions

my coat's soaked with
the smells and sights of Jersey
and as I lean where a chain link
fence used to be, I notice everyone
who slithers by closes their eyes for a second
breathes a little deeper than usual
and cell phones go silent
and magazine picture designer eye glasses fog up
and Brazilian Eel boots all lose
a little bit of their sheen
so I carve a map in the sidewalk
then fill the lines with sand
and wistle old prison songs
in between keys

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