a tap dance with the beat of the thumb,
   tapping lump-thump away on a compact disco,
   the guzzle remains loud as ever in sync with the percussion

(( I hear my heart solidifying in my ears ))

the motorcycle revs as an ad plays on the screen,

      the robotic voice ad nauseam just like the muezzin proclaiming at regular intervals that
someone has passed away

Congratulate yourself! A pat on the back won’t do, you have to take yourself on a date, use
the promo code LOVEYOURSELF to get a flat 10% off on our $250 single specia—

I let down the shutters

& shut my eyes;

     the shit from the street showered
by the gasoline tinge from the motorcycle’s engine,
     the pool of fresh sheets on the sofa spilling heat
which they sucked in when Sofia was lying there explaining what she thinks of the Sophists
the kids playing cricket with a mock-bat   they vacuumed out of the gutter
    the older around the corner seeing this commotion play out a backdrop to the  younger
days

all sound sullen syncopated beats to me

    that the desire
               only grows in retrospect.

I peek from the vertical eye of the window unveiled by the shutters—
  people of a bazillion kind in a small squared space but no Sofia

I collapse and in my dreams the rhythm breaks loose
   and I tell her
almost everything.