![]() ![]() He looks at you with so much gratitude you think you’ll die. The man lives there, but you are just a passenger. Either way, there you are in the room with your body.Įverywhere, the bus names a kind of underworld. White people look at you & see a reckless boy. The truth is, most black folk look at you & see a woman. Some kind of boy genius philosopher, who knows? There is something neither one of you can say. ![]() Or, the drink came first & then the falling off this umber world. He was a cop, ‘til someone died & he found the bottle. When he asks, you tell him you work at the university, you teach. No one except the man at the bus stop with his tallboy. ![]() You’ve been in this city for weeks now & no one knows your name. Here you are with things, but no names for things. Someone in workshop says something like, in Italian, stanza means room. & after that, even the whirring of your head goes quiet. ![]()
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