sitting on a curb
watching the city
race
around me
stern faces avoid eye contact
i smile
to make them uncomfortable
silly bastards

it’s overcast
it’s always overcast
lately
better that
than the never ending
summer sun
baking the life
out of the land

i stare
at the x on the road
where
kennedy got the back of his head
blown off
the misfits sing
in my head
the grassy knoll
stares
uncaring

the silhouette
looks down menacingly
from
the book depository
as i wait
for the rains
to wash
the taste of conspiracy
off of the faces
of the faceless
tourists