Outside a sleeping school a man marches with a papier mâché effigy of an aborted fetus

the coffee house is arranged with miniature cacti, marigolds, lavender, and thistle—

busy at her computer keyboard, a pianist composes music to usher in the coming revolution in the world, her white hair dusting her nimble knuckles

before this I spent a bright, mean red morning 
anxious at the little, gnawing sleep as usual,
the next trip to town unlooked 

for—and grateful
at air quality improved
David Bowie played songs on the radio

my lungs a canyon from the day before

I’d been smoking more cigarettes
than I used to, but 225 days ago drunk
the hospital discharged me 

out the door on foot—
and from sleeping, parked in a cold car, 
again I stepped into a blinding world

of baths after living
in muck-ridden gallons of sea water
to slough off cords of kelp and beads 

of fish shit —because it’s the thing to do

it’s times like these I need a sweet tomato basil 
grilled cheese on texas toast
wrapped in foil on a street corner in winter

I spent two hours walking around
bumping into objects
eating stale bread instead and talking to Andy

I made no coherent sense—
we’d cover it again in two hours—
patient friend he is but today 

he hit a wall as all of them do
when I happen like this 
and it’s enough to make me scream