i left i left he says, i found the escape! as if the tape recorder he held in his hand was hard of hearing, which makes me think of how soft & fuzzy everything can sound when hearing is hard. it's about respect he says, RESPECT he bites, loud enough for us all to ignore. i had just walked in and ordered a tea from the mousy barista who had pulled the overcast over her head, CAT FLAG it said, with a band of black cats staring solemnly overhead. the petulant manager steeples his chin as his feet glug the stairs down, his indifference memorized by the bottom. how can you wean yourself from the habit of believing that what is obviously not yours is yours as my sweat does not purchase any equity here, and what is left when you be leaving, foraging for a new set of eyes whose vision is clear & correct, swimming in juices both lighter & brighter than my dear dark willamette. let us pause to absorb the dreadlocked man's rant, RACISM, SLAVERY, I AM BLACK he says, I AM BLACK! his voice is raised to meet the side that burns, his righteous fury reflected back as every gun is pointed at what the shooter lacks - a deeper connection. you can die free here or survive on tomorrow's rock, the top of it fenced off to prevent you from falling into the sea below. i look up from where i sit, in front of my own window, where i attempt to receive my own reflection, my open notebook recording my own rant. the dreadlocked man has gone silent, retreating into his darkest shape, or perhaps his fury burns in some other state, where hands held high plead to the fluorescent moons amid the stinging haze. all our hands are pale when they are raised. all our windows clean.
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