The world can seem so small
when assessed from the confines
of a one bedroom apartment.
A space tight, sticky, stuffy,
and near unbearably drab.
For a person to go outside and look,
to see all there is to see—to expand the expanse,
to imagine what one might attain
in the span of a lifetime,
at the change of a thought,
on the prospect of a whim, at the drop of a dime.
A perspective can be released
from its rigid boxy cage to stretch sore wings
and to grasp the once unthinkable,
for merely a chance thought,
and for adjusted sight, mercy!
Local news helicopters clapped with
their loud sound as they converged
overhead on the scene, where strangers stopped
to mingle at Coffman Mall, thoughts the worst,
converse on occurrences this once;
I heard “she jumped off the 10th Avenue Bridge,”
a bystander rattled off as rain patted
my mourning-black jacket wet,
standing in a crowd of unknowns, nobodies,
with that heavy buzzing sound in my ears,
while eyes of those around on the ground
looked up—to focus, at those looking down,
focusing, seeing their intrigued glassy whites,
for a moment, everyone watched,
then off they went, no “buddy system”,
about their days in different directions.
Tall, the buildings do look down on me,
in their all too mirrored reflections;
content in ways, their eyes do gaze,
busy city brought to my attention.
Coming to with a pin-prick realization
at waking moment’s light,
out of a dream more like real-life than itself,
a concept: that our perspectives are the only reality we see;
we were only dreaming then, we are
only dreaming now, we are but dreamers—
as fast beams of light we flash in dark skies,
and in the still night everything is fine.
Sitting an hour between classes seemed as days elapsed,
at a Washington Avenue coffeehouse table,
where tall transparent windows
beamed reflective light,
beaconing inquisition: “just look outside”.
Taking the hint, lazy eyes gazed to witness a fashion of layers,
dark shades of boots, and clench-fisted gloves,
blankly moving full-through their owner’s stepping saunter;
blurred these creatures came going along the sidewalk’s edge,
tracking herds in asymmetrical circles,
in late-winter’s dressings—
they gave a bob and weave dance,
contrasting against the
silhouetted patrons standing inside in line, motionless.
A cigarette had fallen central to the commotion,
and became squashed-to on the wet ground—
accordion-like, a thin pale smoke drifted above and into the street air,
between stoplights and cars,
vanishing with exhaust fumes
and puffed exhalation plumes of each passing pedestrian.
Cold feet, slick rubber wheels, and the Green Line’s steel
came around loud moving through,
bounding over the dotted masses of miniature speckled glaciers,
emitting a cacophony of moans, shrieks and squeals
one’s ears could not avoid, even within shut doors.
On a stage there stood warm vessels waiting
for huddles of hypothermic;
metro transit arrived late near soon to be ice-melt
and future city gutter streams.
I sat sipping hot sepia
with this view, with this wildlife,
wondering how the animals at the zoo
felt about the
who poked and smudged at their glass view.
June: It seems so far away, I wish it were today.
Thou shall not behead Anyone, ever.
Thou shall not use the “Lord’s” name in vain.
Thou shall not wage Wars in my honor.
Thou shall not Believe in fictitious “Gods”.
Questions for Asking:
If I exist,
Can you see me?
If I am all-seeing,
Can you see me?
Do you see what I mean?
Double-Decker Buses, Outlet Adapters,
Dirty Seagulls and Elegant Flats;
European Cafés, Dublin City, -Ireland,
So much to pack and bring back.
Sheep and bus drivers,
The left side of the road;
Minutes from Belfast,
Center to North we go.
On the streets of Dublin razor-wire hangs from fences.
Seagulls and Magpies dive in headwinds, this sentiment.
From a far off land noting the usual; on the corner is a café,
In the streets are double-decker buses, along the River Liffey
The needy sit, cups in hand, shaking; while padlocks affix
Bridges dressed in rust, only to express an undying love.
On a normal walk on a normal day, thousands of miles from
Home, just on my way – away. I walk to the store for toiletries
And a view. I find a thrift shop and enter to the land of Oz.
Across the street is Religion; with a paper in hand I watch those
Exit from the church, off of their pews, they walk through
The traffic stepping to, righteous, holy, and unamused.