Trip

My head is

all filled up

and the pigeons

are perched

on the girders

beneath the bridge.

Trees are

getting ground

into sawdust

in a parking lot.

The traffic bumps

along slow

and my toes

tap the brakes.

I take a trip.

I have been a nomad

sailing seas.

A pirate marooned,

surrounded by

oceans

slurried with plastic.

I don't know what is food

and what is foreign matter.

I am a fish

at the surface

of a bowl,

waiting for flakes

to fall

and float.

I suck them in,

swim away.