Today it’s raining out
and they are trying to repaint
the fading road lines
which refuse to just infuse
into the surface.
She looks at him sleeping
by the window while the sweater
in her grip unfolds itself
with both her arms
and both her hands.
A bird black like the corners
of the apartment pecks
at the side of the building
from its perch up on
the power line which
could all go up in flames
at any time.
From up there on that balcony
the second floor of nowhere
is almost something great
they give away for free.
The view reminds her
of what she couldn’t see
and all those bad ideas
that swarm inside
were barely kept alive,
but looking for a way
to make a scene.
Teleporting Typewriter 