catch our breaths at corners and huddle

hand to ceiling
where a small line i never noticed before
weeps rooftop water
onto bedframe and mattress
they are small slow drops
but still enough to elicit panic words 

_______

ricebreadtoast peanut butter and jelly in hand while william and i
detour around puddles
catch our breaths at corners
and huddle under shelter
where others also huddle and wait

_______

you see a three foot wave
and you say ‘naw
i want the 10 foot, the 12 foot‘
eduardo says
you are a revolutionary

_______

arm in arm
i teach william the monkies walk
towards the #2 line bus stop
what felt like rain to avoid earlier
now feels like rain to offer our hands to
and everything growing around us spiraling out to meet it

_______

we strategize with plantain chips in our palms and light sabers and desert adobe in the background

_______

seriality
ben says
and calls it a book
and says something about when it’s published
he talks about the opening poem
as a guide
and the closing poem a bow (as in: what one does at the end of the performance)
and when he suggests a disappearing of the titles
it makes sense
and when i mention shuffling in the unnamed phenomenon
it seems like, if chosen right, this book could pull it off

_______

waiting for the 1
at 30something and el cajon
i entertain urban hitchhiking
minutes before rene and jesse pull up and tell me to get in, fool
this is the kind of chance, this running into people
that makes a city feel like i live in it
rather than just passing through

_______

incomplete, but a detail nonetheless:
the lowering of lake washington
(in currently-named seattle)
by eight feet
to build a ship canal
and the native tribes that died out
as a result

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