--- J E S S I C A C H I U
My bicycle goes no- where in Amsterdam but how about that telephone booth-- it's blue! Store windows look both ways for me to cross the street. They make me think twice there. That funny music, naked smokers, all of the street at my feet and anthems cleaned clear behind my ears, I could play it to you, could send it by boat, in air, on wings, wire it; crowded Am- sterdam over--I must post now close up the road my bicycle has broken in two.
© crossconnect 1995-1998
published in association with the |
university of pennsylvania kelly writers house |