meditations in public

I can hear everything and see the beautiful woman—periphery—watch her breathing—breasts rising and falling—belly taut in shallow respiration—capped by her shoulder stressful slumping—her face a mask of smiling forced expressions—a mock happy that her walk gives away—bracing for the next brick wall—until she notices my noticing—smiles to her eyes as she heads my way—stands—hovers over me—glaring—and says hello—

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Sang Lee is Dead: memoirs in fragments
by Charles Bivona

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Poetry & Poetics w/ Charles Bivona

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