Vienna - 14 ARPIL 2018, 19:44

This mustard colored table - tablecloth.
With rose-patterned doily, I feel like
A soldier in 1944, writing a postcard
To his wife, as the bombs begin to strike.
The building remains unscathed. The chairs just the same.
The aesthetic looks so eternal / untouched by
Post-modernity. I shall write the philosophy
Of pre-post modernity.

Everyone moves fast in Vienna, just like New York
But with less consideration. People have twice
Crossed me and I have only been here
But merely an hour. Both men;
The women seem more considerate of time
In general.

I don’t know who I am right now, and it
Feels like my technology is unwelcome
Although they have the same tiny screened Panasonic
That I saw in Prague. Nobody watches
T.V. in Europe I believe.

I was going to write a love poem just now
But instead I realized ./. I don’t know what love is.

Not quite a pity, although I could try to start now:
Your legs in black nylons … no, that isn’t love.
Your smile in summer shadows … closer.
The way you laugh and try to sing … almost there.
The way you stare into my eyes and all time
Suddenly stands still and I can no longer breathe … yes.