I Hear the Yells and Don’t Care

I hear the yells and don’t care,
tell my legs to pull the next place here
as if we’re not going anywhere.

I’m not above a week-long squat
in an abandoned spot,
but after that my nerves get shot
looking out the makeshift window.

I stare at crowds passing
as if they’re on my lawn,
but then I’m moving on.

I hear the yells and don’t care.
There’s something in the grass
making it smell like this,
and it and me twitch.

Meanwhile, what I don’t see
is watching me
on, or as if I’m on, TV–
hiding close enough to touch me, or nearly,
but not quite ready or able,
or just, late night, a bit dead-eyed 
from too much cable.

We play mystery partner hide and seek,
or maybe that’s my solo thing.

I follow a bell:  it purely sings.

Voices on the water sound like ducks.
The bridge thumps with the axles of trucks. 
A team of runners starts to walk.
No one looks up when I talk.   

Moving out, I’m moving inward,
my pride at low tide.
What abides may be a running joke
or bona fide:
given enough breaths, we choke.

Seat on stone, butterfly on finger.
I tell myself, “Start anywhere,”
then linger.

Journey of no miles
in masks of styles.
A sitter on literal litter.  
Unfollowed on or off Twitter. 

My soles are spreaders
of the black of letters.

Crowd sounds like nobody’s in it,
yet they never finish. 
Feel like tonight I’m making good time
towards stillness.

The moon leaves me sleepless.
I’m crossing a field of mud,
in my mind erasing speeches. 
Wooden doors, cabinets and bric-a-brac
crowd my blood.

It’s not love, only loud.
Not dignified, only proud. 

It’s not forever, only fair.

I’m sleeping in a fort,
in my dream climbing a treehouse.
Paw prints, hoof prints and critter tracks
blot out the air.

I hear the yells and don’t care.


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