Billowing factory smoke. Helicopters chop-chopping every hour. George Orwell's Homage to Catalonia. Hair that won't stay licked down. 60 Thoughts Per Minute. One photo per day. Poems that come like white-fringed tsunamis. Black buckled shoes that pinch. Gloomy emporiums piled high with last-chance books. A memory of a new year, khmer folks tossing clouds of baby powder at each other, perfuming the air while skin turned a ghostly shade. 40s, even when you should cut back

sit straight

think of paths that never wind

but stretch before you,
the narrowest path

when the sky mantles itself in night
you see only a thin white fox running
before you amidst fields of deciduous noir.

Go, go on, place one foot before the other, pinched-toed one & follow it.




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