Bed in the center
Surrounded by trees
And fallen leaves
Half used pens in a coffee cup
Smelling is enough
David party of one
Dedicated to the art
The city is not a jungle
There is no clean well lighted place
No sauce making
My feet are snakes
My shoulder block of ice
Empty bleachers
Continent foot prints
All the pieces of fruit
The plastic clinging to
Edges of bowls
We don’t talk
We play music