Odds-on

Odds-on 4/9

I look out over the city of Santa Fe and I see a tilting plane of desert – a cracked paper surface and scared face of earth – the buildings are growing – a giant’s causeway – the sky is the inside of a bowl glazed in turquoise and silver – I look over this place and see nothing of the poor children the inequity the people – this makes me heartless – I look at your face and see light radiating from your pores – it’s something like your soul – something like mine – this makes me unable to see individuals to see myself to see anything but the molecules slipping into bed with each other and forming things – my finger – yours