A Few of My Favorite Things

The smoke signal of breezed curtains
starts up, as I sit and expand my mind.
I’m reading about John Hoffman,
and listening to Tom Waits. It’s a pleasant
spring day in the grey city.

It’s a soft breeze, and bird chirps,
and a down the stairs xylophone
of 1950’s television.
It’s walking into the corner bar
and realizing it’s a spaghetti western
saloon. Odd, you think, until
you notice the best lookin’ gal
is sittin’ next to
the baddest hombre in the place.
You know what’s gotta be done.

Then it’s getting tossed out
onto Brooklyn concrete
at midnight.

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