Maybe Montreal. It could be Chicago
jazz up there of the jokester on the corner
who thought I was a Quebecian but really just a naive
infant looming on the discovery that
everywhere is dirty and colinders always let out at least
one noodle and people rape,
kill, steal, lie all the time.
strained eyes & a double shot helped me see
that even the clean Canadian city isn't free from this.
Stars still aren't apparent unless pointed out by
the ones who ignore shit on shit on shit straggling
in a toilet that ain't up to standards
anywhere.
yet still it flushes the same way, north of this equator. I stole
the love-ly car & lied, "I'll find us a good parking spot."
& bought a pack of cigarettes with the property of
cyanide.
Up there they hide them behind metal curtains so the fact that
smoking exists is kept from the kids. Can't hide it for long. And,
I visited a cathedral for a boyfriend I'd break up with in a
blank, static phone call a week from then.
Maybe travelling isn't far off from just staying home.
No comments:
Post a Comment