Economies of Scale
It never completely dries ─ the indelible, infinitesimal ink stains bonding
sweat and bacteria, perfume, cocaine, green webs and autographs, eyes and
pyramids to the palms of our hands….
Once looking out a subway window, I saw a man fumble his gorged wallet
and lose to a gust of wind a flurry of bills. The recovery on the platform
was choreography for grey suited soloist and core of bystanders
who seemed to radiate and draw to his center like a swirl of metal filings
. . .
Window Washer
It’s the job I’ve always wanted─ ladder and chamois,
buckets and blades, high above the Monday morning
traffic. Before I found this niche, or aerie, I suffered the
belatedness of cities, dreams already sub-let, area codes
exhausted, every inch pre-strung with webs of wires and
clotheslines.
. . .
