the pigeons
own the sidewalks
as i sit on
a side street
watching the people
through a golden
diffusion in
low laying pollution

there is a certain
serendipity to
the strained sunlight
burning off the
layer of orange
the angry horns
as cars switch lanes
with no blinker
nor casual glances
at objects that may
appear closer than
they truly are
a confounding truth
in dreams dissipating
as the fog becomes
another wispy memory

or something pithy
i am just a fool hiding
in plain sight
trying to make sense
of the senselessness
too sober to try and
untangle the world
too fucked up to see
i am the one knotting it up