for looking at him funny
so here I am now
☯
I’ll file my report
the whiskey ran off with my night
leaving splintered sun
☯
That pecking pigeon
could it wander through the doors
of the southbound train?
☯
A flagger, shrouded
in bright orange; excavator
waits for the whistle
☯
And I’m lumped in with
this whole busload, young to old
watching the fall storm
☯
Hoodied, with gnarled hands
assembling a thin syringe
Happy Thanksgiving
☯
A drowning man’s wail
or windshield wipers on glass
sound the same downtown
☯
Crickets chirp until
the freshly-molted gecko
decides on dinner
☯
Nothing better but
to record those cold speckles
filling the pothole
☯
Absent any sky
arc lamps schpritzer in puddles
passable starlight
☯
This bus rolls so slow
the piss filling my bladder
tops out before home
☯
He shares lollipops
with the sniping punk couple
northbound, Christmas Eve
☯
Pigeon and seagull
share silent rooftop sunbreaks
street stilled, Christmas Day
☯
Belltown crow opens
a takeout box with its beak
between showers
