There's something feral about this city -
a tamed requited wildness that distances us.
If I walk too fast or slow I'll claim a balance
My fingers will brush textures and surfaces ever so secretly,
and I'll wonder what you feel like.
the smells in my city
Asphalt in June
A hooker's perfume
Old memories exhumed
Tacos, used condoms
Diapers and tampons
Aromas so random
A fresh toke of a toke
Stale cigarette smoke
Called to the rocks by some back-alley siren,
I went fishing for a muse in a dumpster.
But still I dive for fruits of the street,
Though there are no pearls in this city's detritus;
Some used to call it Tinsel Town
Maybe folks still do but not the ones who live here
My city is a vain aging celebrity
Constantly undergoing reconstruction
Gentrification in the form...
She wrenched on the jaws with all her strength. Rigamortis had set in and the strong muscles of the creatures mouth were clenched shut fighting against her, refusing to yield to...
on overcast days,
the future is just a story
carefully threaded everything
(out of place out out out)
kept the secret
calamity (needle? just
a story just a story just)