There is a statue of a gambler
out front where all the pigeons
go to peck at stones and stare
out past the slowly fading roadside.
This city has a tradition of immortalizing
bad luck on forever so no one else
can make it any better.
There is a woman with thinning hair
and a gut that she keeps tucked
inside her sweatpants.
She is laying down across the sidewalk
with her headphones on and is screaming
like she lit herself on fire.
She’s really tired of all the walking
and the talking, but never getting any sleep.
Another body tossed
to the ever growing heap
of left behinds; who follow
just the flickers of our shadows
as they move across the walls.
Immortals
Teleporting Typewriter 