Nov. 12, 7:52 PM, Crescent St
FLANEUR
The time is pulsing slowly
and its pupils diluted
and contracted blink
in my face but I see it
not--I'm preoccupied with
vain idle things as any
flaneur is supposed to.
The breath of time grabs
my beret and I run after
it, cursing: This freaking
warming with hurricanes and water
from the sky. I take out a
paper, my scribblings over headlines,
and the inviting whiteness of
the edges. I'm here and still
I'm not--I'm overseas,
I'm twelve years ago,
I'm 20, 30 years ago,
I'm before I was born,
trying to imagine my grandparents.
Lo! It's a glitter there,
shiny and bothering,
What the hell is that?
That... It's the American Dream,
far far away, beyong that hill back right,
aside this road that I have taken.
I, the 7:52 PM flaneur.
The time is pulsing slowly
and its pupils diluted
and contracted blink
in my face but I see it
not--I'm preoccupied with
vain idle things as any
flaneur is supposed to.
The breath of time grabs
my beret and I run after
it, cursing: This freaking
warming with hurricanes and water
from the sky. I take out a
paper, my scribblings over headlines,
and the inviting whiteness of
the edges. I'm here and still
I'm not--I'm overseas,
I'm twelve years ago,
I'm 20, 30 years ago,
I'm before I was born,
trying to imagine my grandparents.
Lo! It's a glitter there,
shiny and bothering,
What the hell is that?
That... It's the American Dream,
far far away, beyong that hill back right,
aside this road that I have taken.
I, the 7:52 PM flaneur.