Van Ness in the Morning
My cells now not soft amoebas
open to living division,
but old marbles, making a
pointilist’s dotted doll,
unconnected
glass globes spilling
at a touch.
at a touch.
My self then,
barefoot feet filthy on hot pavement
amongst the butts and empties
hungry, alone, dissolved as
a brown bag in ocean
happy
as I’ve ever been.
May 2011
Posted for Friday Flash 55 at the G-Man's
(This was really intended for last week but got wiped out in
the Great Blogger Massacree )
Top image: Standing Model, by George Seurat, c 1887
Bottom image: South Van Ness at Army, 1953, by Telstar Logistics on flickr
