10 minute walk

In the park there's Gypsy technicians

engineering freedom around the oak trees that lead to nowhere.

And I would have hung around

saddled in the stars titling in the shadow of foreheads passing by.

I would've dragged the constellations nearer to the earth.

A midnight blue scattered around my waist.

Turning gold in the pink flesh of the crooked arms of the moon.

In February.

But,

I'm capturing blood in my head instead.

Dashing mentally into what seems an eternal corner.

Rolling in cross legged nothings of restless meditations and spent cigarettes choked between my fingers.

I am hungry.

And I don't dance very much anymore.

I sigh about it and start to believe it.

Sing it like a song.

Biding my time

battling the urge to break bread under a bridge...

Losing my sense of traffic upon the rivers dimpled wave smaller than a hush- booming-

make room for my eyes caught in the privacy of trash bags whistling against the wind.