in july
ten firecrackers
a roman candle
charcoal smoke from a grill
and two whores laughing
in the alleyway
while i’m trying to read
saroyan
late
on a wednesday.
this neighborhood
is like a microcosm
of the world:
self-involved
inhuman
loud.
i can indict it
just by looking out
my bedroom window.
it doesn’t make me
feel
any better,
just
at the mercy of all
of you,
the same as
i always
am.
07.06.06
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