"T R U"

city blocks
populate like ant colonies
personal installments of
       logic +
       functional dung shells,
reminiscent of vanity mirror cubes.
eyes sore
from courting radiation --
legs atrophied
from lack of use.


foreigners mistaking the Statue of Liberty
             for performance art --
     thoughts of futility, cycles,
               determinism, chaos.
          "NOT A T R U   STREET"


   and by the time
this wandering orbit
  swings me back to
                  sympathy and
                  empathy and humanity,
                    i'll have exhausted this
                    grapefruit store of iron --
                    i'll be weak.


   still stumbling
for a nostalgic future,
mind in secret shapes --
    sleepwalking.


sitting on stacks of books,
opening cans of concrete,
it's rained
so everything should be clearer.