http://www.gratisography.com/#0

Your key-chain doll is not wearing panties

You dislike confined space (but you’re on a public utility vehicle)

The fire trees lit the blue skies orange

An old man lay sprawled in between opposite lanes

Atop the footbridge were onlookers,

in each side, on the jeep

But we speed away because

our hours continue to tick

screaming, “LATE!

YOU’RE GONNA BE LATE!”

.

.

.

You could’ve been my grandpa

old and graying in my head

Or that old map-vendor in Fuente

who sold overpriced maps to foreigners who

will get lost

.

.

.

Tell me: could you be next?

Yes, you white-haired man who

wears pants and bares a chest,

who talks and swears to himself,

who incites my demon (called indifference)

I can look at you only from afar,

for fear of your gaze or restless eyes will

burn me

so, I look away.

No, you don’t exist.

Please, don’t exist because I have no pity left for you,

the sprawled man ripped it off

goodbye.

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