| It could be worse. |


16th and 16thSweat traced down in rays, burning your back.16th and 16th
Sunlight dripped, rippled off the sidewalk, and was mirrored, hot and mocking, from the back windshields of passing cars.
Two and a half cigarettes later, were walking
from the corner store, cold bottle condensing in the bag that hits against my thigh with each step, fingers finding each other in the solace of the dark cast by the shadows of our bodies, stretching thin over the ground and merging along the cracks
on the distant horizon of the sidewalk.


seattleslick sick-man mining coughs from asthma caverns, been working from hours to hours and ashes, lit up, burnt out.seattle
neon trebles beat, mark time on sidewalk scuffle, tap, ragged
feet meet
dull cigarette butts on the floor.
so no wonder youre wracking, shaking slim from dead fire and dirt in your lungs.
do you sing your sisters hymns? humming smoke, sallow boy.


Silence for StreamsBy morning, rain sets trickles of people to driftSilence for Streams
along the storm drains. I leave my jacket
upstairs and watch the shift of kaleidoscope umbrellas as they duck and weave like bright bubbles rushing down a one way stream
of concrete.
Frantically, a man outside
lights a cigarette. Smoke sputters and the butt burns out. Perhaps I am a dream
on the sidewalk, where people river and rush, plans unmet. The tide of covered heads and tiny swirling tempests of water turn, rippling back against me waves
lapping to erode the torpid stone. I am tumbled over &


smoke-drawn savageMidnight brings a beast on precarious prowl throughsmoke-drawn savage
cubicles and copy machines.
Starved, she hunts the bottoms of pockets and
desk drawers. Frustrated clawing and then a catch.
Wary, she slinks under the flicker of fluorescents. Beady eyes flit to her face
like scavengers seeking weakness. Paranoia beats primal.
She reaches that porcelain oasis. A canine grin and she feasts, devouring flame as soft cries of ash roll and roil down the side of a peeling stall door.
She consumes her cigarette scraps live, sucking smoke like s
| It could be worse. |


the city cannot speakthe rough throat of asphaltthe city cannot speak
road chokes on a bolus of four-cylinder families.
a dog's piss gnaws
at the concrete bark:
ammoniac ulcer,
hac- king
miasma, unfinished
tenements of stillborn steel.
a scr


BridgeI do my laundry across the street from the bookstore, and while I wait,Bridge
I try to read through the windows.
Theres a book signing today by Joeys favorite author. He poses near the window like a movie preview, waiting for people to remember his name. Joey says hes famous for his handwriting and he is practicing on the back of a napkin. When Joeys bored,
he tries writing quotes on his arm because its more authentic.
Im washing the sweatshirt Joey lent to me when we walked over the Brooklyn Bridge. When he spoke,
--
Icon made by the wonderful ~ElectricPhantom! ALL HAIL TRICPH!
*Member of the Sector 5 Marauders
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'Cause when it's in your hands, it's a cigarette.
--
We can make everything go away by shoving money into all your wounds
I love your gallery and i can't decide which to favourite. I am just.. astounded.
--
i don't have a signature...
--
"I brought a piece of you home, sang you to sleep in my bones. I left a piece of me there, planted a kiss in your hair." -Oh Fortuna.
you have a beautiful gallery, and so much of your writing is simply exquisite. the simplicity in the barebones emotion telling is... wow.
I might have overwhelmed your page a bit with comments, but I want you to believe these words... I'm overwhelmed after discovering your stuff.
(ps, if you ever have time I'm looking to make my poem... my only submission thus far) into a short story. I'd really appreciate a mind like yours on how to inflate it delicately)
that all sounded so poetic hehe, you've inspired me
Cheers.
Jamie
--
Hey, you sass that hoopy ~alaisiaga? There's a frood who really knows where her towel is.
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