plucked feathers

a man stands in his store front--stares
thru a window separating him
from the world.   wears an apron
separating him from a mess.

the sign frames
this glass-box scene.   claims
"pollos vivos" which means
"live chickens" which, of course, really means
dead chickens.   the way hello
can really mean
good bye.

waking up

early morning
in the alley. tentative sparrows
bounce towards the expanding water pool--a mushroom cloud
of skunked beer, spit, and piss.

so much beauty in dirt.

all i want for christmas:
Pictorial Webster's: Inspiration to Completion from John Carrera on Vimeo.

but i will ask for this version.

on my way home from work i make up stories about people.

the man, who believed himself to have the gift of x-ray hearing, sat on his front stoop and twiddled his arthritic knuckles, irritated with the disbelievers. a girl walked by. he closed his eyes to appreciate the swish swish plink of her full bladder. at the intersection she pulled a metal bottle from her bag and downed the last gulps of water.

working from home--kind of like a richard scarry book

the cats are at the kitchen table. i work at the computer and they watch out the window, keeping tabs on the kids come and go to school; the pigeons sweeping the streets for city crumbs; the cars compete with the bikes; the leaves resting--happy to not be terrorized by wind and rain for a time.

without moving, things are changing

tonight i found that the markers of my childhood had run dry.

dirty projection

"two people looking at each other, each thinking that they are perceiving one another, but really perceiving themselves projected onto the other."