breakfast; then, a sweaty walk
to museum nipples rendered
vibrantly in colors like nihonga blue.
carded at the bibliotheque but
no bouncers keeping me from
Rumi and Talgrode, names I chased
and didn't know would lead to
Sufi mysticism at the oriental
pavilion in prospect park.
after mango nuts and salsa i
ascended rusty ladder
shaking sawdust flakes into my hair.
the sun, a diffuse spotlight
rained magenta solar grey; if i'd known
someone was watching i would not have
sunk beneath my headphones, dancing
like smoke out a sadhu's pipe
across the silver rooftop stretched
along 7th avenue.
you caught me naked in my clothes!
with eyes you eavesdropped on my
conversation with my
self, and now i'm sitting
in a whipping wind, gluing
words to paper
so i can remember.
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