looking out bus windows
you can't tell if someones
screaming or yawning;
  laughing or crying.

flipping through channels on mute.

a goldfish
                  peering out his bowl.

every three seconds
staring at a new world.

unless you spot
some natural wonder:
a mountain or the ocean.

in that case
none of this applies.

you get to know well
the geometry of the snow cap,
the rhythm of the tide.

the same goes for those
with whom you share the bus.

in which case
clothes and moles and ****** hairs
can become all too familiar.

but looking out bus windows
at people's
what this is all about.

speed voyeurism.

where a yawn and a scream
look just the same

and either mean
just as little
as you

as you

            move on to

the next person
walking along
or standing in a doorway
or sitting on steps
or carrying something

and maybe laughing
or maybe crying

and either mean
just as little
as you

as you

             move on.

we're all shape shifters.

we
         put on weight
and
         give off heat.
we
         spit on the sidewalk
and
         **** up air.

*******
                  do we **** up air.
like they stopped making it,
                           or something.

and when we sweat
it evaporates into rain.

in the
             composting
           blast furnace
              of our guts
we
         reduce and deconstruct.
we
         take the good
and
         turn the rest into ****.

and we apply this same
learned approach

to our fellow
shape shifters.

it's just another
cold rainy
autumn day.
the wind is wet
and the sky is gray.

there really isn't that
much more to say,
'cause it's just another
cold rainy
autumn day.

autumn paints the leaves
in gold and red.
gives them life before
they all fall dead.
the cold wind helps
as the branches shed
off their colorful clothes
and stand **** instead.

its just another cold rainy autumn day
the wind is wet and the sky is gray
there really isn't that much more to say
'cause its just another cold rainy autumn day.

dangling on the drapery
clawing

we stare
bug eyed
out windows

at lives

both ours and others

as we steadily sink down.

everblue junipers
caress the wet sidewalk
and twigs hug the curb
as they float down the street.

tomorrow sand will appear
at the edges of the road.

I haven't
watered my garden
in over a week.

now spear shaped tendrils
of liquid hydrogen dioxide
plummet down at
twenty two miles per hour
making patterns across the
wet surface of the earth.

in the bright spots
rain drop splashes
stumble back and forth
across the dance floor
like cymbal crashes.

wasps,
grounded
by wet wings,
begin their slumber
early,
jaws locked,
legs dangling
off the stem of a flower
whose petals are
battered and wet
like fry ready fish.

the newly
pregnant
ocean
swells unnoticeably.

streams emerge,
rivers rob banks,
puddles form
around
orangeskin pores;

and the
everblue junipers
caress the wet sidewalk.

you're either deft or daft,
there's no mediocre.

if you're not a
face card,
then you
better be the joker.

'cause no one wants to
be just a number,
we all want to make us
a name.

and if we survive
through this summer,
we think we might find us
some fame.

i came home,
all my posters
were
hanging off
the
sterile
egg-shell
painted walls
so i laid down
and
allowed my
eyes to close.

i ate too much
for four days just
because i had a memory
of wanting
to eat
too much.

so i did.

now there're
all these stories
that i at one point
experienced
but now they're
only stories
and i don't
tell them
that well.

and i wonder to
myself,
about a lot
of things,
but one
is how long it
will take before
i fix the posters
on my wall.