How do I know anything? How do I
know that's a bug or a roofline, a door
or a car? These discriminatory tendencies
either make or break a world : for what
if everything was the same? I can watch
that Alkat fellow pouring his Lebanese
coffee, and wonder what it was before?
On the wall above his head, my dry-rotted,
drugged out friend pulls another guitar down
and begins to play. Yet another round of those
broken-heart songs that bore me to tears.