note.

This city wears a corset. I bend into the curb and dally about the roundabout as if some gadabout kid. The ends of alleyways empty out into the gaping mouths of right whales, the church mice are colluding electrical engineers; our whores are lofty like steeple towers. I’ve decided to reserve my seventies for public displays of insanity, such as scuba diving into metro stations. Even my thoughts are filtered through anti-spam software. Stillness is only ever borne by the trees, those unconscious altruists etching the sky with starlight designs.