We all are hoping, as we count up
all the memories that make us unresponsive
that it is in fact not us who have become
the untold crazy ones.
A swarm of flies eat a dropped cone of blue
cotton candy off the concrete from the inside
until there’s nothing but the paper and the darkness
of their bodies in the air.
Young couples in their dirty clothes lean against
each other in the stairwells, and their shoes sink
in the mud whenever making the attempt
to get to anywhere. Homeless dogs never need
leashes and no one is concerned they should be on one.
Freedom like that is more costly than any paid
possession on the websites that we click through
when we’re bored.
I broke into the locker where her memories are stored,
and dug through pile after pile of inferences made
in favor of how things have always been before we got here.
I was disappointed at the lack of funny t-shirts that if lucky
maybe still held what she smelled like in the fabric.
I pulled the metal door back down and walked through
all the fences toward the next place I would go to
as a way to find the answers for the crows out on their wires
repeating phrases from the liars, and eating nothing
but each other in the meantime.
Teleporting Typewriter 