sidenotes on perspective is a place for word-play.

some people paint, some people sell, others make bread and still others sit in plazas and yell about endings. many are recycling beginnings, stringing them up from wistful bits of drainpipe and bricks, cool grains like ideas flowing deftly through fingers into rich soil. one might be sleeping and two already dreaming of three ways to make it, to make it to the top.

curious eyes are turning upwards and downtown and then slowly drowsing toward smooth afternoon blues, but never quite closing and never quite ending and quickly embracing, racing – then mending.

now we’re gathered in groups, scattered from troops that buried their bullets like seeds ripe for bursting. as we shade under fronds and carve tragic wands, the wise warn of histories riddled with ones that wandered alone and withered when done.