Words

This is the meal, the
measured allotment and on
a given day, this is the
measure of who I am —
random, calculated, weapon
and balm — this is the vapor
trail a life leaves across
conversations, inserts into
situations, like a needle bringing
soma to the situation —
solution to the conundrum
and this is each breath escaping,
coalescing on the windowpane
of each event and I am on a bus,
leaving and looking at the
passing — leaving and looking
at what I pass — observing
with commentary until
well past sunset’s last smudge.