Saturday, April 5, 2008. Some nights I want to sleep in your living room because there are not windows and the daylight has to see in through cracks in the doors. Most mornings I can't. This is your morning wake-up call.
(Walking the block towards an intersection at night.)
We are shoved up into fences. We are beat with clubs by the heat turned up and on by sirens, circled lights, to take fresh parking space. In the street, free standing galleries never stood a chance, the sun never lit the room through open glass. Ply wood fills up the windows. We'd break through them if we could get away. Count up the diamonds, count out the bills, shove them through stiching in your pickets, into the loose legs of you jean. If we make a break, we run for it. If we trip to the station we are on our own. We'll wish for park benches with cop's club in our side breathing, Wake up!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment