stoop sittin in sunshine
sloppy around the corner
book imprints my legs
burning with the last rays
of a day long in leisure
fantasy of characters
creaking shuffles of people
with no cares for me or my blues
so I’d rather stoop sit
glancing occasionally to see
a puff of luck caught in a sidewalk
a piece of trash gleaming
the cool marble on my hands
when I lean back to stretch,
glancing occasionally to see
a car, and then you, your braids,
your brown skin, your turn
to take another street.
Category: stream of consciousness
-
never mix hawking and kerouac and coffee
is it
the Jeff Buckley or the Hawking?
or the coffee or the Kerouac?
making my mind
alight brighter than the pregnancy
of a rain sky
seeing clearer all these
coffee shop signs marketing to me:
billboards singing,
“lover
you should have
come over”what is it about
Mondays? is it space time
or caffeine
saying to me
if you could do it again
you would ~
and don’t believe it otherwise.people come,
they go,
outside to smoke
while I wait with my books.I heard in a movie of
a man
eating an ice cream cone
for every book he finished reading ~
and he became fat.is it the Kerouac
or the Hawking?
is it the tedious reliving of
a day
after a day
after?each is the same. but either way,
the grey sky is bright
and alight
with the heaving breast of
possibility.
Poetry by JC Snyder 