we could disapprove so heartily
of everyone around us, so unfamiliar
with the abyss that they were always touching,

they were the emptiness, all ugly laughs at things
they didn’t understand. they were the people under sway,
patriotic as they were to hate the countries with no names
and not comprehend all the beauty that flows from chaos.
no books in neutral colors would ever touch their hands
or bruise their minds.

and music becomes noise when sung so loudly
and emotionlessly, if you don’t know what you’re saying
half the time. i found the city to be a cornucopia, a cacophony even
of dial tones and rushing fingers, busy yellows and belts up around the
iron lungs. the lights would only alternate, never seem to concede the stars
their share of night.

and clothes were only to hold in the edges of
people and their problems that they had to share
in the form of made-up dreams, the communist manifesto
of personality problems and narcissistic smiles.

i’ve moved from place to place, looking for something quiet,
but the flow of time could only grow louder, and absence hasn’t
made my heart grow the weeds of unwanted fondness, but sometimes
i just can’t bring myself to even
care.