thanks to Marcel B.

The day moon says “fuck you” when it rises

With the brick in the sun at 4:00--

It wasn’t his idea.

The grey sky over Philadelphia just wants to be left alone.

He didn’t know about the Doritos, and the train station,

And the peeling paint.

The six men playing volleyball didn’t think

They’d ever see beige cashmere

But things happen, you know?

The words “crime rate” had no meaning to the grass

But he’d read Kant, and Nietzsche, and Freud,

So he had a sense of humor about it all,

About reality.