the hum is the city
mouths closed silent
opening the day in force
moving in city numbers
calm, fresh, in a rush
good morning, meet those eyes
here i stop to make note
glance the ticking clock
now is our time
the crowd has a timbre, mood, a tone
could be the earth itself,
myself
full up this minding, hear that?
up close, it is not a hum
can i find the way?
undulating through combers
of people's notions;
some minikin thoughts are mine
though sustain on unattached observation.
as moment by moment
days rolling upon another
changing dream clusters
in motion. emotion. commotion.
my ship in harbor, no anchor holds me
waves of people walking, not
talking,
not talking, although know well,
in their hearts everyone wants
to detail aloud their current concern,
ailment, injury, or when nothing else
is available, news of a friend or relative
yes, pain sells like rain to the
weatherman
if night dreams lingered
there'd be more to write about
but days would be confusing, jumbled.
again i take pause to note the ticking clock;
now is my time. now
is our time.
long ago my ship left the dock
can i find the way
moving maze forward
through waves of people thought
fumes haze the brain
coat a glaze, damper the
blaze
now call bill to meet for coffee.
after hello he said today is paper day, a reminder
knows well the trash collection schedule.
he'll tell more when we meet at Angelo's
there, he talks, i drink the coffee.
though i try to subsist on keeping track
make note again, eye toward the ticking clock
now is our time
