Hot 17

Sous le fardeau de ta paresse
Ta tete d'enfant
Se balance avec la mollesse
D'un jeune elephant

Overheated busses and rubber wrapped windows that seal me away from where I just was. Which was stumbling up Broadway after dancing to Michael Jackson. I found myself walking along the street staring into car windows full of presumably happy people zooming on the hard concrete with painted lines that will guide them to a place that I cannot follow. That was after hugging Nymphalidae goodbye, barely able to restrain myself from holding her longer than I ever should, and seeing a dark haired beauty fall out the back door of the club, and being tempted to ask her to hold my hand all the way home, and never leave my side. But, instead, I pick up my cigarette that had been leaning in the tree, and I put on my headphones and a Brian Wilson song kicks in for the crooked walk home. But I grew tired, and found myself on that hot bus for $2.25, waiting outside that fast food place with the massive illuminated redhead pigtailed girl staring me in the face as I waited for the driver to shut the door and take me home. Finally, as we crossed the bridge, that structure of concrete and metal lights lifted me over the dark water, carrying me back into my urban lair of littered streets and manufactured greenery, to the end of an evening I know all to well. This is it.