Who exactly is this new man moving in the building? He seems to know me. No, he totally knows me. I woke up at three in the afternoon and the bedroom door was closed; sometimes I do this when Rudra is knocking books off the shelf and I’m trying to sleep—I’ll push him into the kitchen and leave him to his devices. Kalika meowed to get out of the room, waking me up to this. I don’t remember getting up and shutting it.
“Oh hey, Glenn,” he says.
Damn, I don’t know who the hell you are.
“I’m back. I was flooded out in Florida. How are you guys doin’?”
Good good. A little low on the memory, though.
Do I have missing time? Am I an easy abductee? Saturday, I’m glad I’m not waking up in the middle of a field.
Mail grab: Nice, a new Punk Planet.
How does someone know your name but you don’t know theirs, or even recognize their face?
Now it is quiet Saturday evening. Every place in Roanoke is easy to get there, though usually once you get there it’s emptied out. My big night out will be to get my haircut and study and write in the coffee shop downtown. I say downtown, I live downtown myself, a few blocks from the stores, from Biscuit World and Straight Street and the parking garage that is off limits to poet terrorists.
• • •
This one I wave to on the sidewalk stares right through me as if I’m not even there (what, you don’t recognize me?). Be polite anyway. Of course I am not coming down the path all psycho and neon and demanding. Maybe a person’s attention is not drawn to the likes of me unless I am popping a kickflip off the hood of their car.
• • •
These are quiet moments in a noisy coffee shop. Devout dishes clang and praise through song. The TV takes advantage of documenting the depressing. I feel depressed enough without it.
Homework writing ahead of me. I haven’t been doing much of it lately. Typing words out just to watch them form, that can be good too. All these voices surround up around as a festival in the park gathering in near-dark. Punch the clock in the morning. I keep semi-recognizing people as streets without names I’m making left turns on.
BGKPOETRY.COM 