The city is the future
The small town is the past
One thousand deaths a day
I walk straight through the person in front of me
I inhale summer’s heat
I turn around and look at the person’s long- standing body I just entered into...
I feel the death of another, watching them fall to the ground.
People shatter to the ground to help the fallen man. I hear bystander’s call forth for emergency’s help. And all eyes look straight through me. As if I’m not there.
I feel the man’s last breath wisp past my last exhaled. Only then do I realize I’m not alive. I exhale winter’s season watching autumn’s last maple leafy stand in places of unresolved fashions of light and bright eyes of colors. And yet I still wall through and into people who don’t see me or feel me and still I watch them all continue to die.
