Wednesday, March 1, 2017


Just a few fine stairs down. The
young girl with the Jewish candle
was holding her hands over the
tray full of cakes. Not to say why,
the mystery goes on. The yellowed
light from over the doorway came
in from outside, shining a chosen 
gold on all things. 
I sometimes try to wonder and gauge,
or to see what it is I know : why the
old act sometimes young, and the
young act perilously silly. Perhaps
none of it really matters, but the
factor of annoyance  -  to me  -
cuts in. I must move on.
On the streets, just so simple, I
have seen it all  -  I have watched
people cry, and seen others scream.
Death and its circumference, covering
over debt and its reluctance. 'Stay in
one place', the man says, 'for it's 
always the cheapest way.'

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