1.
The moon's half there.
You can see the other half
somehow, the dark part
the hidden part.
and clouds that look just like the sky
obscure that big pitchfork tower
that sticks out at the end of market street
you can see the tips of it,
three points, floating in the greyness of it.
a smoke stack down 6th, thin like a cigarette,
puffs slow moving White up,
it billows, almost as still as a painting.
if it were a painting of itself no one would
know the difference.
2.
You walk quickly past the just opening fruit market
on the corner, your grey rabbit fur vest zipped
all the way up to the neck, your shoulders
drawn up toward your ears and your neck
down, trying to turtle into the fur.
A black plastic bag with a soup container
of dark sweet creamed coffee hangs from
your right wrist, the container tapping your thigh
with each step forward. the coffee is described
by it's roaster:
"if it were any thicker it would be syrup"
you shudder against the cold.
It's not wet out. It's not dry.
The morning grey sky pushes down on you,
your ears still wet from the shower prickle.
A man leans on a tree with three of his fingers
wedged into his mouth, barely bent over, just maybe
his neck tilted, mucous and bile flood
over his hand down his wrist and splash wetly
on the ground.
His watch drips with fluids, the cuff
of his soiled military green parka soaked.
You step around feces
you step over feces
you step around a person
you step over a persons leg
you cross the street
you light a cigarette, with a match
you taste sulfur
the tower at the end of market
looks like a ship a pirate ship
floating in the sky
its bottom cut off by clouds
but they're the same color as the moon
as the sky
and as your vest
Someone told you it was designed
to look like a ship floating on the fog
when it rolled in
When heather was in town you made a joke about the fog
you called it sky AIDS. Spreading through the city.
Sky AIDS.
SKAIDS for short.
You didnt know if you were positive or negative then
you were waiting, uncomfortably for test results.
You still call it that, SKAIDS.
Your mouth tastes like stale cigarette.
And your head aches just a little bit around the edges
from last nights tequila, it was so sweet.
The moon's half there.
You can see the other half
somehow, the dark part
the hidden part.
and clouds that look just like the sky
obscure that big pitchfork tower
that sticks out at the end of market street
you can see the tips of it,
three points, floating in the greyness of it.
a smoke stack down 6th, thin like a cigarette,
puffs slow moving White up,
it billows, almost as still as a painting.
if it were a painting of itself no one would
know the difference.
2.
You walk quickly past the just opening fruit market
on the corner, your grey rabbit fur vest zipped
all the way up to the neck, your shoulders
drawn up toward your ears and your neck
down, trying to turtle into the fur.
A black plastic bag with a soup container
of dark sweet creamed coffee hangs from
your right wrist, the container tapping your thigh
with each step forward. the coffee is described
by it's roaster:
"if it were any thicker it would be syrup"
you shudder against the cold.
It's not wet out. It's not dry.
The morning grey sky pushes down on you,
your ears still wet from the shower prickle.
A man leans on a tree with three of his fingers
wedged into his mouth, barely bent over, just maybe
his neck tilted, mucous and bile flood
over his hand down his wrist and splash wetly
on the ground.
His watch drips with fluids, the cuff
of his soiled military green parka soaked.
You step around feces
you step over feces
you step around a person
you step over a persons leg
you cross the street
you light a cigarette, with a match
you taste sulfur
the tower at the end of market
looks like a ship a pirate ship
floating in the sky
its bottom cut off by clouds
but they're the same color as the moon
as the sky
and as your vest
Someone told you it was designed
to look like a ship floating on the fog
when it rolled in
When heather was in town you made a joke about the fog
you called it sky AIDS. Spreading through the city.
Sky AIDS.
SKAIDS for short.
You didnt know if you were positive or negative then
you were waiting, uncomfortably for test results.
You still call it that, SKAIDS.
Your mouth tastes like stale cigarette.
And your head aches just a little bit around the edges
from last nights tequila, it was so sweet.
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