A melancholy always drips from the apartment window, driving you nuts as you sit beneath smoking cigarettes. You blow smoke just in time for it to go in and create a chaos for the old lady who lives there. Her husband dreams of the pretty girl…. the next door neighbor, he is bed ridden, but dreams don’t cost. And the girl does not charge. The rule in our world is you can only charge for what you are aware. If she was really aware like really enlightened she could make millions. Even I would have gone bankrupt. A charge for thinking and a premium extra for the act after thinking… But I hate the apartment windows that only open to old couple’s lives… the other windows are closed.. and I smoke even beneath them… but there is no chaos.. no one realizes my existence or the smoke… intermittently I smell weed and I get up and walk to the street. I look back at the apartment.. the old couple… the Girl…. bits of smoke lingering… I walk away as the windows probably close behind me… open ones close and closed ones open…. may be….

Categories: Poetry

Tags: National Poetry Month, National poetry Month 2018, npm18, npm2018