from the window, where i lived tonight at,

i’ve mashed eggshells for the orange plant,

lit the rose candle, and grateful that today

there is no garbage truck, to remind me of a

past life. of orderly hours, although, there’s

the man with balding mullet and no shame in fearfully

tight, underwear. smoking his breakfast cigar,

signaling that repetition found its way, even relentless

hinting at the mundane. i’ve become german, in habits

such as staring into places and eyes without any reason,

or remorse, only fun. but the girl right across my flat, put her silver

Bose headphones on, sitting on the ledge, flirting with death,

although, from that floor, if she fell, may only break a bone or two.

at that age, i liked to imagine i was brave in lieu

of all the experiences i had yet to encounter. her scowl is in sync

with the rain and car tires fusion. the elderly lady

hides behind her lace curtain, diagonal and above, observing me,

from invisibility. but from where the light strikes, i know her shadow well,

and i wonder if i should give her the show she seeks or return to bed?