bouncing up and down and spread
out in small intervals like morse
code letters but with no real pattern
to be found. Just before I heard the
subway doors close in the station below,
I could smell it. I knew that in the next
few steps around some dark alley corner
it would be there, some five foot tall, seven
foot wide piece of someone still dripping
with colors not found in nature. A crime
with no victim, given birth by a generation
with nothing to do, too much time on our hands.
That smell always takes me to other places,
places where my breath would show in the air.
Places where the sounds of trains comforted
me and rocked me to sleep late in the night.
In an effort to search I broke my path up
into steps, zigzagging across town like someone
trying to get lost, or maybe lose something else.
This was the first time that I had walked home alone
in what felt like years, the air beside me absent of
laughter and dialogue, I had to fight the urge to
talk to myself. The words biting the inside of my
mouth begging me to find someone to introduce
them to. But in my current state, I was in no shape
to speak to strangers
So I sang to myself instead.
