I have come
to your city
to lie in the grass
and watch the clouds
bounce uselessly off
the snow covered mountains.
Your city softly beneath
cherry blossoms.
Homeless punks along
the avenue who never
cease. They are deported
from Canada. Their faces
move between the tourists
set hard and falling-in
looking for the other world.
I fall asleep until
the shadows tuck themselves
around me. I must to certain
greater forces present myself
at the end of the day.
Matthew Rohrer (Ann Arbor, Michigan, EE UU, 1970). Poeta.