LOOK UP . . . IT'S ALL AROUND . . .

graffiti, a lovingly placed personality pip. drowned in knotted rope, we hang ourself by the sip. the noose, clear. the noose, a glass lipped glass of beer. here's a flask with a hip-man too drunk. sick of himself and coy. there's a fellow splendid, you know this because he tells you. you tell yourself that if you don't care, you might as well be great. you say this as if ourself will let you. he's speaking again, there. about other hims, and pomegranates -or was it just granite?- and upright ladies with downturned mouths. a space in your fist that you don't remember because you visit it too often. if you know it is escape, is it? perhaps instead you should say something or be something or find another way to look up.