Читать книгу dampness - Jasen Sousa - Страница 6

Sheets from a restless summer night

stick like American Cheese

to the knees, to the thing that pees.

Where the air is too hot to move

and cover me, bashful breeze.

Skin tickled and teased, coated

with missed opportunities of yesterday.

Parts of last night’s dream hang

on the back of my bathroom door

inside of a towel that begs

to keep its feet on the ground, to walk

without sound.

Birds hidden in trees

train me how to listen.

Lowered blinds on adjacent windows

teach me how to wonder. I follow light

like others follow night. I move fast,

sun rises slow. I’m anxious to go, so,

walkways and sidewalks

will feel my trails first

and remember them before

they get covered in cluttered layers

of misdirection.

I am next to him, side-by-side

with the man who delivers newspapers

to empty lobbies, trying not to disappear

as the day goes on like puddles in the street

left by 5:00 A.M. sprinklers.