It seems to me that people don’t expect it
to get colder after all those months of summer
make them wonder if it will be like that forever.
The inverse of this is also true and can be seen
by people draping jackets over their arms
when they walk to their cars. It’s not too cold
now, but maybe tonight when I step out
passed the glass doors that contain me
I will be chilled enough to lace my tired
arms through both the sleeves.
Overgrown fields live and die without caretakers
becoming the only refuge for creatures that cannot
make themselves a way out on the concrete.
Nothing good ever happens out there
even during the invasions where the youth
send up dark smoke clouds from their mouths
like they are gambling with the weight of all their souls.
I’m not afraid of the old superstitions,
but the new ones just get bigger every day
like they are inflated by the rain of wasted time.
All the begging has become so senseless no one
even has a clue what we are saying.
The water in the waterfall is going backwards
and then forwards again like it was a video tape
advanced and then rewound.
Still there are a few who’ve found a home there
in the gaps where things are senseless, and the food
is always brought to them by luck.
One such group of silent people all sit in the bed of a speeding
truck and watch the scenery melt behind that new
horizon line until they see the sign that tells them
they are close enough to finally count the minutes.
Teleporting Typewriter 