I enter and inhale the shadows

coated with the invading dust

of everslow construction.


Amidst the swirling haze

lingering about my tennis shoes

I see a half-buried can of coke

forgotten by a hardhat weeks ago,

a plastic wrapper that used to say “Hostess”

but only reads “oste” now,

a discarded card from a hotel:


and a sticker ‘y name i’

poking out of the grime.


From the concrete ceiling

I catch a whiff of someone else’s yesterday­­—

something between gasoline and pizzabreath.


None of the cars overhead

—the landlocked jetplanes—seem to care.

Care about the sticker, card, wrapper,

can of coke, or someone else’s yesterday.


And so I suppose I shouldn’t either.


I inhale the light

leaving that strange world

shifting behind me in the shadows.



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