182poem

May 2, 2011

The walk in this autumn metropolis
is wrapped in a wanting so deep the street
is postered with faces kissing its reflection.
There is no stop, just idled grazing.
Cornerstores display the fire of summer
as passion fruit in an attempt to slow
the walk that knows it must keep walking.
My ideas are backlogged in wooden crates
that drip with the juicy want of trying
to sell stuff to people who walk the walk
on trapeze wires between doorless walls.
My alarming red apple of disconnected days
floats on the assumption that everything
is tangerine, sticky and sweet.

LOCATION: Montevideo, Uruguay – Walking the streets eating tangerine, grapes, and apples; I’m amazed at the fruit displays on every block.

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