April, 2004
Everyone's in the kitchen learning to dance, while Maria's in streets of broken glass,
praying for cassava when summer isn't beautiful. We take notes.
koto strings
Grinding gears as I
walk down the street
Snapping my fingers
and letting my sad dance momentum
move my tired bones
In an alley
trying to get
some cold pavement therapy
Not yet smart enough
to understand myself
or other people
There's an old woman,
gravel voice,
hanging out her window
asking "Where is this going?
When does it end?
What am I here for?
When is it going to end?"
My patience running thin
I shoot every fucker in my head
Make a show of my incompetence
and burn these memories down
Then on the porch, walking
thought the door, empty inside,
full of steam
Late summer
and I come in to koto strings
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