--- 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.