Familiar faces look away
from each other on the street.
There is no courtesy no
apples in the trees.
The rain water collects
in the broken concrete.
I hold my ear to
the ground and hear
an imitation of the ocean.
We have always been the best
at pretending. Adopting
the techniques of everything
around us, including the components
of space.
A woman goes through her mail
on a bench at the laundry
where her clothes are all
suspended in the cold and spinning.
She tears the junk letters vertically
down their centers and the sound
is like nothing in the city.
Suspension
Teleporting Typewriter 