Wednesday, March 10, 2010


Cement sidewalks cracked heaved by tree roots , grass , dog poo, wonder what they ate to make the poo like that, sometimes leached, sometimes too full of nutrition, ants, anthills of tan sand bursting out of contrasting soil, curbs. cars = heavy, bulky, colorful, chairs built for lounging, settling in to watch the movie of the passing scenery, too big for children who had to kneel to look outside. Children watching the door handle or their feet sticking out to the edge of the seat. Adults flicking cigarette ash out the triangular vent window. Sidewalks strangely empty. Save for the postman, save for children walking to or from school. Teenagers paired with friends, youngsters in bouncing packs. Crazy people that everyone knew their name but nobody talked with. A house with packed dirt in the place of lawn. Peppered with bits of toys. Separated from its neighbors with disorganization. Again everyone knew their name. Spilled sweet things attracting ants.

Stones missing in cement. Waiting for the stop light, watching others ignore it, if everyone else jumped off a cliff would you join them? Feeling awkward standing alone on the curb, holding the imaginary hand and waiting for the go ahead, wondering where I’d be now if I crossed, watching the alternative reality fade as it passed on ahead. The early bird catches the worm. Watching the alternative reality catching its worms. Following my lead. Letting hurry make my decisions. Letting hurry take responsibility. Hurry causing a blur where nothing is visible but the ground, nothing is seen but my feet. At the forefront. If I looked to the side I’d be off in a new direction. Holding myself intact with hurry. Pressing against the membrane of the future. Leaning into the …

Holding back has its own independence. Going slowly takes its own speed. Holds its own freedom, flexible in its increasing latitude. Fewer names to learn.

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