Читать книгу dampness - Jasen Sousa - Страница 3

Puddles and other places

I am seen throughout the day, stranger

to the world and to myself. A portion

of my being slowly evaporates underneath

Weeping Willows and AC’s that droop

out of 3rd floor windows. I walk past a park

in the middle of July and watch

balls fly, there is no place that kids have to be.

Reminders of intruders

who party on the balcony of my conscience.

I carry a lot with me in different compartments,

but it is the items I have left inside of forgotten pockets

that I desire to reintroduce to my fingertips.

Falling out of my dreams, parachutes

containing incomplete goals imagined

on dim-lit days. My toes yearning to be comfortable

inside damp, disfigured boots. My previous success

is an equation I can no longer compute.

I walk swiftly past store windows to avoid eye

contact with the man no longer intact, the man

in black, black backpack, black hat, swallowing

a black...gun. Future memories blown out the back

landing in cracks where the sidewalk and street meet, until

a machine comes by and sweeps them away.

Roofers that quit and didn’t take the ladder down. Good kid,

madder now, scowl, molded angry brow because there are forces

which will not allow the man I witness throughout the day

to be present now.