chased by unknown assailants
the walking wounded, a black man with a clipboard, 21 dead in Israel,
the noise of an ambulance and
the everpresent hothouse buzz of original sin

it can sometimes be hard to keep fighting

fighting

the inappropriate urge to duck into bank lobbies

newspaper boxes

housing projects, rusting green Dumpsters, filthy urban trees, and statues

the inappropriate urge to crawl under something concrete to be alone
with fire and tobacco
scratch up my voice; take my lungs

it's sort of quiet here.