29 June 2011


Identity 6/28

I wander these streets and I am calm
I am calm unfulfilled but so calm
I walk until my feet hurt Millbank to St. Paul’s
I think about walking east but what does that accomplish?
I begin :

Here is my dirty palm
It has been all through
the subways streets London
I feel that washing is erasing
I take a picture of a stone
by the Thames
cracked lengthwise
and covered in pink
a kick and it’s in the water
I sigh and sit on a bench for hours
what is this empty
the space between ribs
that I can jam a finger
is there a pocket of ink
a blasting nude lightbulb
I pull the cord in the heart
walk towards Westminster
I begin :

Why London?
what is this place in time to me
who are these foreign faces
and why am I asking them
to heal whatever bald spots I have
I want to say I am
walking that curve of the world
but the cobblestones are uneven
my ankles crack
and I smell endless flowers
slowly ending their bloom
the petals make an oatmeal
on the sidewalk
they are pink white browning
it reminds me of frosting
which reminds me of
the swirl on top of a cupcake
which is somehow the dome
of a great church
I begin :

This is a great book
the pages skin pulsing
the letters stained
burns immovable
the story unreadable
1000 pages long
unknown to even me
is that some statement about life?
I begin :

To wonder if any statements
can be made with a straight face
I am covered in flower petals
pink like a newborn
I guess my age and count people
who make eye contact
which manages to fill
a small portion
seems to erase the smoothing
out of time
the wandering feels forced
a nonexistent period
I keep scratching
that wares like a blister
the soles of my feet ache
and I am as calm as butterflies
I open
pause my colors in the arms of the sun
and close them to the earth
in tree shades
and when the rain comes
I suppose it will wash
and I guess there is the answer
what lies in the under layers
that fall away in London in rain
is the silence
that creates just the right amount
of noise
to let you sleep through the night

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