a cold wind blows from a navy sky,
i face it, gloved hands in my pockets
swaying along with hanging traffic lights
the reality cut off by sixties memories
soft recordings telling me how disconnected
heres and nows
whys and hows
break vows and build eternal truths
but only for a moment
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there's something about living on the corner of a highway intersection. during the night, and when it's really early and relatively...
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i. i sit quietly watching the man seeking my soft spots with nimble fingers sliding in the needles, head, neck, belly, arms i'm froz...
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