And it shoves me to certain corners, to certain humid houses,
to hospitals where the bones leave by the window,
to certain cobbler shops that smell of vinegar,
to streets terrible as crevices.
There are birds the color of sulfur, and horrible intestines
hanging from the doors of the houses I hate,
there are forgotten dentures in a coffee pot,
there are mirrors
which must have cried with shame and horror,
there are umbrellas everywhere and poisons and navels.
I walk around with calm, with eyes, with shoes,
with fury, with forgetfulness,
I walk, crossing orthopedic offices and stores,
and patios where clothes are hung from a line:
underpants, towels, and shirts that cry
slow dirty tears.
