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| him waiting the coffee percolating you stand: small birds fly up streaks of shit become flattened crowns on concrete your shadow moves no not in the wind your shadow moves as you stand as you walk towards traffic you wait at lights then walk past exposed teeth yellow fruit a diagram of the digestive system in a pharmacy window you walk past inverted cones of meat revolving your steps are slowed as bodies obstruct the creases in your shoes appear disappear (later those shoes will fill a space here near the table) figures seen through glass are blurs of colour on condensation the moon is in africa the bench you left is occupied by another who reads a magazine small birds gather there in this room coffee percolates and you cross manchester street breathing blue gases and spice nearing this door you'll leave the imprints of your heels on compressed leaves |
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