A condom of course
and washed-out orange peels
lumps of fir cone
or shit or --wiener?
--not with crows
circling, some fighting
seagulls behind me
Squat noun things
just off the sidewalk
down by the dazzles
of oil
And leaves!
Pointed pale brown leaves
turning up their tips
I'm with them
with the rot that's first and always
good to see
Just off the sidewalk
is waiting for rain
to water and grow
clean space
around parked cars and their tires
Rain can run
a glistening bright
fresh layer upon the hard
life of the pavement
As a child I once sat
upon that lip, my feet
down low, in the gutter
(someone said)
I had a stick
I used for poking
and then it broke
So I stood up and ran away
leaving little bits behind
Does rain still wash those twigs
somewhere, bumping and taking?
Freud says the organic yearns
to be the inorganic, to rest
This little curb-side stream
might agree, if it dreams of
dust and trickle-end
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