Where

Where
Eric Blasco

I was looking at the screen
to follow other lives around.
I was stumbling to find my way out of town,
thinking I left,
when I was lying on the ground.

It was the same spot
where I wrote you this goodbye
in between subway stops.
Where ticks on clocks
make time rot.
Where the tree lies
down, when the sun sets
in the moon’s eyes
dusk dries
up the day’s old
bread grows mold.
 
So I broke a dollar in two
to buy some luck.
I scraped loose change together,
where 80 cents buys a buck.

 

Before Noon

Before Noon 

by Eric Blasco

Green canals of trees
guard us above,
as the leaves
reflect light from below.
They know
the ground brought us power
to see and grow,
to walk a straight line,
in this city of 200,000
parking tickets,
fines,
noses picked at—
picket lines of worry across the faces
on all kinds
of skinny-legged people
at tight lipped places.