a view from the bridge street bridge

just a cityscape.

In this wily-why-place
i cry for fresh fish
or bullets or knives

i slithe beside

my sense of smell which
chimes, "How I wish..."

do you do the same as un-surely named

José foot-anchored
along the river's banks (all torn)?

So the butt of the what-you-know is endless there

the souled sunset grumped forlorn

in this wily-why-place here
by the end of time

with a virgin
a rhyme

and a tear.

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Monkeys: There are no monkeys here. If you're looking for monkeys, go away. Well, actually there are monkeys, but they're of the hairless variety that writes poetry and such. If that's not what you're looking for move along.