which of you was it?
who hunched over sichuan pepper powder, index finger to your nose,
on a Bernal street corner,
who, fleetingly, stared into the naive gummy white-bread eyes
of a commuter on his way to Promethea.
who listens to utopian Nirvana in their utopian Tesla,
who is jealous of everyone living outside their head,
who never embraced the haunted futures,
who was once a time traveler,
who fell and hit his head from a third story window and
forgot the atom bomb
forgot Bukowski’s booze
forgot Ginsberg’s eggs
forgot Kerouac’s blues
and maybe Whitman, too.
Who, last Friday, spent 85 paralytic minutes wandering crumb-less
through digital forests in search of
“the best bluetooth speaker under $100.”
in a virucide-soaked, kombucha-soaked Berkley supermarket
I bumped into a doctor of architecture
who wrote her dissertation on
franchise coffee shops built around internment camps
internment camps built around franchise coffee shops.
three packets of microwave popcorn were
all she carried
in her little red basket.
as a child she played in the sun dial’s shadow,
dreaming of scraping the playdough sky
and vacationing on the sunny-side-up moon
and digging to closed-book China
and sucking up the entire reservoir through a neon curly straw.
I spent the rest of the day
on the institutional, segmented carpet
nobody looked at me.