What
a beautiful and violent day today is!
—Joe Brainard
The city slowly
exhales. It ex-
hales forever.
I know this be-
cause I hear it
out my new win-
dow all night. No-
thing going in. It
is not a direction
tonight. I’m a
slave to the
clouds that
carry away
this incessant
breath. Gulp-
ing everything
I can from this
vacuum, I scream
Come back to the
ground, you mon-
grel clouds!! Come
back. Be fog. Be
like I am. Square
in the face. Hazy.
Pinwheel of in-
determinate
temperance.
At a loss. Death,
that last gasp for
breath, is but
the clean sweep
of this infernal
breeze.
