a diary of thought.
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www.poisonedpunchbowl.com |
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heat spilling through the invisible ash still hanging in the air down in the financial district where two towers used to stand where i take off my shoes and carry them across the lawn and my bare feet carry me through the moist, cool green of a new york city lawn. the grass tattoos it's little lines into my thighs and i roll my spine up, walk down to the pier. watch tourists line up drinking coca-cola and beer, cooing and oohing and ahhing at the skyline and the byline underneath that reads "used to be here." the heat pours down into my skull, down my neck, shoulders, chest and falls off somewhere between 4th street and sunset. there's a hard-to-detect static in the air when the sun starts to set at the end of a particularly beautiful day. the smell of static like when your sweater shoots off sparks in the winter or your hair flys up and sticks to the air. it's the vague smell of electricity. it makes me wonder about sunrises, sunsets and days so wonderful you could choke on their memory. i walk home in comfortable shoes. the kind that can stay all day and never blister your feet. pieces of the street stuck to their soles. stuck to my soul. i am spinning through these days like a spider on high-speed and every tiny crack in the sidewalk makes me smile and every glance from a stranger makes me feel naive. |
