Bloodied band-aids lying on the sidewalk, a million little masterpieces lost to forgetfulness, or distraction. Isn't it always that way? Isn't it funny how brand names become synonymous with the product itself? They say you shouldn't deal in absolutes. It's good to operate in the conditional. It's good to survive. Isn't it funny that I was thinking, "It's not a band-aid, it's an adhesive bandage, band-aid is a brand name", instead of, "why the **** are there so many bloodied band-aids on this corner?" It told me something about myself - what, exactly, I am not sure - but I could quickly say with certainty that it didn't really matter.
        The light turns, the cars stop, I begin to cross the street and notice a bloodied band-aid stuck to my sole. It's the best advertising for band-aids that I've ever seen.

Air guitar, mellow, loose breezy shadows on the rock
outside my window, where life,
barely modified by my
observation
preserves
the old learning in each living thing,
seen through my window?

I have to say, this isolation doesn't appear to be affecting me at all.

I was thinking... The wind must come from somewhere.

Do the trees make the wind with their ceaseless moving around?

“KKKeeeeepp STILL!!” I shriek at the trees from my bedroom window but they pretend not to hear. Science says trees can talk to each other over some secret, underground, filament-like network - so I know the ba$tards are listening.

And I don’t know about this new generation of birds - these tearless, happy birds that chirp just to be fashionable. They annoy me when they pretend to be unaware of the value of silence.

“Shut UP!” I scream at a speckled bird who stares down at me like I’m insignificant.

“Yeah, the woolly mammoths ignored us too,” I remind it.

I give it the two-fingered, back and forth “Yeah, I’m watching you” gesture.

Then it just chirps right past me, as if I don't exist. Aaarrrgghhh!

So I give that bird the bird.