moving

moving

the things
i see everyday want me to hate them
but all i have
are things i see everyday

this alarm clock is my eye
the socks on the floor are yesterday
this soap dish is my prayer that cradles my cleanliness
the bathroom window is the dawn
this cereal from general mills and the homogenized milk is my conception
this wallet is my grandfather’s handshake
the crows in the palm trees tell me, none of us is really supposed to be here
the wet pavement smells like the clouds
this dog reminds me that the sidewalk is the earth
the construction worker is the guardian of patience
the frying egg in the taco truck smells like the sunshine

the city is my face
my face is where i live
ha-ha, there is no such thing
as moving.


chumahan