Boston = the cruller in the T station; the chocolate chip cannoli that you somehow knew to order; street vendor blood roses; the bridge with that graffiti about that Smoot guy; the headstones (with poems — the one about how you don’t need to please anyone when you’re dead); I can paint from memory; you can find new shiny sneakers; these are my new pink pimped-out sunglasses; so far gone in an Irish pub with two pints of Guinness; we have no intention but just to wander; concentrated history in a glass.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s