coughs & robbers
I am lost on Saturdays. I miss everyone I used to know. This slant of light is fortified by cancer. Drinking in the schoolyard corridor. My steady stare undoes the chainlink fence. Grass grows out of the document. The Air Force is responsible for the morning box of donuts. I am secretly photographing the bottom of San Francisco Bay. I forgot all languages. I stand at the edge of the Pacific Ocean and await music from the Far East. All the cars have gone over the hill. A handful of sand reminds me of dusty classrooms of Sunday School. I used to believe in something. I just want to touch someone and be touched. Touching is better than believing.