In the night of the empty park,
in the night of the loud highway,
no flurry of stars.
The river’s twisting glint
makes it seem okay
to not have a job.
Sunlight on his building
has the murky quality
of photographs.
Hate winter?
Find an ample lap,
get cozy
& doze.
A single brick
pushed out of the mortar
to stare at my new kicks.
Racoons hang around
that trash bin
for economic reasons.
It’s snowing again –
little by little
a few more poems.
Jay read that article
& now she wants
to eat somewhere new.
The crowds moving
as usual, lacking
emotional content.
Hey Google,
play something
awkward & lovely.
Alien Buddha Press 