the warm windows find you
they see through you
like smoke tangents intersecting away from clouded tabaco shops
like swapping perspectives worth potable intemporal souvenirs
lit intendente. hangover lisboa.
i switched my tv on last night
it is still warming up
reality show mechanic ballot tube
spin roulette and same hands?
|a poem is waiting to connect the next world to you|
it's the reason the staircase that separates you from it
breathers behind lego globules of born again architecture
hear on radio each morning about the great 1755 earthquake
they plaster preservation and orgulho over birthrights to panic
less bicycles to suffer
plying more slopes, so
more tuk tuks sample
more tourist shoulders to count
more cranes hoisting lamps, laundry
under chin of castle with more trees
does that mean less oxygen?
maybe the next toddling bus
chances on the theater of the barren sun
maybe they read between the lines of street graffiti
maybe they find some color
we polish over the grey
that swell to stardust kisses and old boon of moon
next visit i'll welcome more of your green into my days
and judge not the tireless mad hearts
who make you so awkward and cool!
write(c)2016 kwame aidoo