Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Morning on 17th

By the way there's like a whole bunch of names
beginning to pile up outside this fluorescent light
cubicle space, shit sh-sh-shit two dimensional
unnecessary shit, and I'm pretty sure they're serving
scrapple down the street little corner street off M
with Mexican voices crowding in and breakfast smells
like a great busy truck stop coffee stop truck smell in the city;
eggs on the griddle yolk running over bacon grease toast,
I walked by, hours ago now, to the sound
of engines stopped at  red quiet lights and morning,
bland sunny bright DC morning blended mosaic
recycled folders and post-it notes

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