Exterior

I smile at the bleached shirts in summer light.
I marvel at the fusion of forests and stones.
Passing by offices full of bottled water,
I imagine I'm looked at like a quiz show
while I gaze up at the thin row of sky
wherein a lone gull makes its way through
a hellish correlation. All streets lend to this one,
where everybody wants to be or at least
wants to have been, where the last decade
has faded from memory like it never happened
and the clocks move with great urgency
and reflect fireplaces and plowed fields
and helicopters full of nervous laughter.
Meanwhile, the temperature quickly rises.
The presence of a tiny bell, even idle
in a small watch, seems a threat as work's
intervals and conventions disclose nothing
of the galaxies of fearless lovers who shiver
in the broom closets of such drab buildings.