I took a walk in the sun.
The wind was blowing.It was a dangerous day.
Thoughts of the past, of you.
Fragments embedded in a feeling.I retreated to a store and ate a hot dog,
Then to another where I read painted words.Later I talked to strangers who claimed
They were my friends.
A woman was among them,
Speaking from the ruins of her face.
She said she had gone to a party and never left,
Explaining everything without meaning to.The sun stopped speaking for the day.
Shops were shuttered.
The wind was now a whip.
I fled underground into a manic train.
It shouted news from the bowels of the earth
But stayed on its level course.A Hungarian woman waited for me
At the end of the line.
She ate three bowls of porridge
And buttered her own bread.
Her husband had a gun
And right then was wandering
Another continent seeking his revenge.
Some things never change, she said.The city was in serious darkness now.
A light burned in the window
From which she waved.I was in motion
As I always had been.
Away. Toward. It did not matter.
The time to go always arriving.April 2005
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