Thursday, November 13, 2014

November Street Scene

a cafe

with only one table

even in November
is strange

a man tries reading
Gravity's Rainbow

"but it mocks me."

I'd rather fry kidney's
on a stove

oil crackles like kirby
on the page,

think iron smell.

color is dull
to none existent.
all white, bland

utterances from
bodies lying on
subway grates,


coffee sips mankind
a selective hi

novels in garbage cans

chairs upturned
on counter tops

chill winds
scuttle through

old city pathways

cracked pavement
like an arrow
points north.

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