(no subject)
Suddenly this city lifted its skirt to reveal its pale, thin legs. Perhaps I'm slightly paranoid.
They are a bit unnerving.
Shaking. Or is that the cold?
I noticed my flight from district to district was upon floating roads. Entire worlds beneath me. Cars I might crush. Homes I might stand in. Second floors to first. Broken columns and wood and sawdust.
Everything suddenly feels frail. This city feels frail.
I was given a taste of intolerance in broken English and a karaoke rhythms. By a woman lost in twenty-years-ago and empty glass bottles. A monthly dose to remind me that we're not quite there yet. Or set a dot in my scheduler.
She'll be gone soon.
But who will replace her?
Quakes and shakes.
Fieldtrips to monopoly markets. Food pyramids fed to scuttering children.
This is what you ought to eat, she says. This is what to look for. This is a vegetable, she says.
No, that's a plastic bag.
Smells of importation freezers and labor sweat. Chemical permanence rotting in my bowels, dumps, waters.
The children still say ew. Little feet rumbles. Until they're swallowed up by faults.
There goes our future.
He clenched his fist, tried expressing outrage. She smiled, understood nothing. I flipped through dictionary thoughts for an insult in Japanese 101. But laughed. I'd rather hear her think we can't hear her, I tell myself. Laugh. But drove home feeling the throat punch I wish I could have given her. Feeling the rubber burning. Concrete cracks.
They are a bit unnerving.
Shaking. Or is that the cold?
I noticed my flight from district to district was upon floating roads. Entire worlds beneath me. Cars I might crush. Homes I might stand in. Second floors to first. Broken columns and wood and sawdust.
Everything suddenly feels frail. This city feels frail.
I was given a taste of intolerance in broken English and a karaoke rhythms. By a woman lost in twenty-years-ago and empty glass bottles. A monthly dose to remind me that we're not quite there yet. Or set a dot in my scheduler.
She'll be gone soon.
But who will replace her?
Quakes and shakes.
Fieldtrips to monopoly markets. Food pyramids fed to scuttering children.
This is what you ought to eat, she says. This is what to look for. This is a vegetable, she says.
No, that's a plastic bag.
Smells of importation freezers and labor sweat. Chemical permanence rotting in my bowels, dumps, waters.
The children still say ew. Little feet rumbles. Until they're swallowed up by faults.
There goes our future.
He clenched his fist, tried expressing outrage. She smiled, understood nothing. I flipped through dictionary thoughts for an insult in Japanese 101. But laughed. I'd rather hear her think we can't hear her, I tell myself. Laugh. But drove home feeling the throat punch I wish I could have given her. Feeling the rubber burning. Concrete cracks.