Inhuman Swill : City Life

Under their skirts

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Under Their Skirts
The sidewalk trees drop
their skirts of dirty snow
for a silver-tongued winter rain,
exposing a careless mulch of cigarettes butts,
not to mention the occasional dog turd
and chicken bone.

Nothing better to do, trees,
than eat, shit, and smoke
as you wait at the curb
to be picked up by spring?

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Dogwalker's algorithm

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if
      poop
then
      scoop

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Oh, Jesus Christ!

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After sawing and pounding and power-tooling away all night and all day, the people upstairs have apparently finished building themselves a piano. Five and a half blissful years of peace and quiet in this apartment, and now there's suddenly someone playing bad music badly on an instrument that's badly out of tune.

Jesus, I think my brain is about to claw it's way out of my skull. I won't be able to work here much longer tonight. My neighbor would seem to be working his way through his sheet-music collection. God!

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William Shunn

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