August 24, 2008

>Found this tucked away in a box with a bunch of other poems, and tax forms.

Sometimes he felt as though he could lift up the streets and
make them into riverbeds
Plant seeds that would sprout and
vine over the stone building statues. Put his
finger to his lips and soothe
away the noises that were not the sounds of rain falling.

Sometimes he felt powerful.

Other times, he jerked awake at night and
felt the cars and voices and settling sounds
of the city streets curl into his window like
a finger of cigarette smoke and wrap around his chest.
Sometimes when jostled to waking this way he would become as volatile as a summer storm and moan and crash,
Sometimes, he wished he could
evaporate into the sun,
and sleep there until a better morning.


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