It is 2011, just before the thunderstorm.
Here I am, repairing, and I am bleeding.
I am located at the corner of alphabet village
at the bottom of the hill. I need your help. You will find me
surrounded by apartments, where the trees
tower especially silent during the day,
where shouts and cursing rubs the back alley.
We roam to make one another suspicious;
to fend from eyes that bring disease. We
are running on borrowed time, recycled filth in the
last cycle. Mouths open/shut.
We would be criminals to one another
stealing or scavenging. We would be sticky,
dirty and in vengeful stench. We would be lost or,
at least, struggling. Be hurt. Invisible
except to the most callous observer.
We will be sewer water. Potash tailings
of bleach. Collapsed lungs. No,
we must first collect. Be reused. Be taken apart.
:: Note :: ... hovering before rising & falling ...