I hear nothing distinct,
odd exclamations of “I don’t know,”
questions of intrusion as
strangers enter the room,
sets of sensibilities that
know “for sure” how to
find someone in a
squalid quagmire of
tourists and cheap desserts,
who find atmosphere in a
thawing tundra of
half-eaten umbrellas,
clear and present strangers
infiltrating spontaneous composts,
reversing mortgages not
knowing what the words mean,
pestering fed-up innards with
rock and roll guitar virtuosity,
constipated no-ideas that
sweep away oh-my-God’s angriest alcohol.