Trying to eat crayons,
I lower my carbon footprint
by losing weight
Working against the yellow of the sun
I circle the moon buttoned into the night;
warm as blossom,
silver as fish.
It’s hard going over pebbles
and shingles, jagged and raw.
Their shouts disturb my sleep,
Fuck off and go back to where you come from.
Is he referring to me?
Not even Harlem has this sorry soundscape. Halfway through life,
an awkward texture between the air and me, I’m too blind and too mute
for the ugliness and
violence found in such beauty.
