did I hear thunder?
coffee in the treetops
just a pony cart of vegetables
street vendor’s cry
(O! the Arabs of Baltimore!)
on his daily round
somehow getting by
yet clouds slipped in
with a long cord, the phone
this old apartment, all light and draught
the floor sinking, new cracks in the plaster
was giving way, downward, you could hear it in the night
paint flaking, more pieces falling to my bed
all going downhill, to the basement
rusty pipes, armies of cockroaches
at work in the walls
constantly dripping faucets
kitchen, shower, the bathroom sink
stacked magazines slid away on their own
new grit emerged immediately after sweeping
the faucet knobs never matched
water rings in the ceiling
blooms collapsing for lack of circulation
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