The sky fights itself
In an attempt to
Decide the weather of the day
The news vans are out
In full force
And by the way they're driving
It seems they want to make some news
The sparrows are doing thier usual
Bang-up job of cleaning up
After the messy humans
I smile
And throw them a piece of bread
After all,
I figure they must be tired
Of mistaking cigarette butts for food
Only a faint echo of music
Reaches me from the solitary
Three-inch speaker they placed in the corner
A consolation for
Having to put the smokers
On the patio, I guess
But I've always liked it better
Out here anyway
Sort of reminds me
Of a mini Cafe DuMonde
Without those blasted paistries
That usually only stain my clothes
I see a million dreams
On the faces of the traffic
As it goes past
All herky-jerky and retarded looking
A couple of faces stare in recognition
Towards my direction
But even if I do know them
I don't care to show it right now
I'd rather lose myself in
The sound and the movement
This dizzying play
Of symbiosis
~Matt Magus
