sanama

amidst all the ruckus I am almost // & I don’t want to straighten myself when bikes fly past me doing wheelies // drunken screaming creates something I’m not capable of // not capable of cereal days

but within it I hear a silence // & notice I don’t have to be capable of anything really for the night’s subjects teem // past my exhausted body & their ends & their routes exist somewhere else // parallel to mine // once in a while we see each other but that’s all // once in a while we speak to each other in foreign languages which keeps us distanced // to each other we never say anything important to each other // nothing graspable

we are separate sheets of sandpaper when we encounter // a desert between us // & sand that blows into a wrong direction towards the coastal pines

alone at night one might see fog // & alone at night one might become the fog