The mouse caught in the trap, looking demure.
A teenager in a red shirt with an arm cast on, looking
Down at a street where they keep digging.
But what is going on in the minds of the characters
In the margins.
There is a folder with his name on the desk
Top. Art as the only response to tragedy(--if they had just
Let Hitler into art school). Instead of doing the things
That need doing I don't do them, for the first time.
The knocking doesn't stop. It's election season.
Outside the pulse of techno. Daylight stretches on here
Though it's finally dark and one wanders at the squandering
Of hours. There would be no reason to keep a record
If nothing changed, no reason to strive if immortal.
Salmon colored thing moving outside window turned out to be building crane.
My friend came over and watchd a movie with me after we ate out the last
Of the dying day. He told me in the kitchen my eyes were beautiful.
He carried the vacuum up the warm street and I
Dropped his ice cream. He fell asleep
During and I listened to his breathing. After a year alone
In an apartment the breathing of a dear one is the sound of God.