Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Brooklyn August was the cool

blue of the L train the
thick wet breath at the
mouth of the subway the
way my legs felt against
each other, bare and so
strange the watery
glimpses of myself I
caught in plexiglass
windows the funny signs
I could not understand
the heat, the young hascids
in mini-vans and long
sleeves, the reggaeton across
the street that one
blue dress I wore so
much the softest skin I've
ever felt the sour
smell of weed and rot the
white kids riding ten speed
bikes that boy who
cooked me artichokes and
sleeping with my windows open.

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