running around circles at the speed of sight
measure circumference by the square root of
distorted foot peddles in the mush between
the metro bus and the curb, awake perturbed,
the clouds uninformed darkness, my shadow
stylin' on the absent sunlight a casper
in the day. i am the disturbed vernacular of my
street's concrete...community of individual.



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myself is sculptor of
your body’s idiom:
the musician of your wrists;
the poet who is afraid
only to mistranslate
a rhythm in your hair...
-E.E. Cummings