through the filter

along the banks of the hudson
came a breeze rode by summer feet
walking barefoot on gravel in a foreign street
where the rain from the grass
pays no mind to those
who've trespassed.

migrating north,
migrating to a new home
a shrinking state
lonely roads and utensils,
cementing a fear, ten thousand feet below.

traveling to man made lakes, in hopes of drowning ghosts we've long ago lost,
keeping in mind the position of our hands and of our lungs
clicking minds and holding breaths
knowing thoughts before they're thought
and thinking the same.
we'll migrate home
to the foreign lands of forgiving rains

i've never heard of the past or future.
looking up to familiar shores, with nothing to guide two.
so let these dinosaurs thump in our chest cavities,
cause i don't mind it much.



- low T

locks and lights

forest v. civilized

bird bath

public pool

no one's right

.5

basterds

they have not left.

logan square

the peeling paint really adds to the homey feel here

eastern state penitentiary

Barber Shop

Capone's cell; Martha Stewart anyone?

Dodge 'em.