i am sometimes am
and am and am
(like rain even)
my fingers or my
toes like drinking
the svelte mat polish
of hot wet asphalt
lingering in winter's
dying hands

sometimes i am like that
acrid and pleasant
i waft particularly
up steaming narrow
columns of wetish
light dappling suddenly
back alley ways
flitting with the mute
hulk of a monday
afternoon

in town sometimes
down town sometimes
me and me together
alone go spilling
with the wind through
the unkempt smiles
of rough lonely folks

(and sometimes always
i split my cheeks
curling on there
cold bitten winter
rouge a warm
flowing crescent)
to each person
i pass and i love
everyone of them