Bar and Grill.
The world the window held was stirred--
itself was liquid, thick, and slightly toward the ground,
where fast pedestrians were passing by
and buses struck from silver mints,
and bicycles well-spoken, and a host of S's, nesses,
motion making individuals abstract, as motion will.
And then the window bound them to the ground a bit.
It warped and rippled them.
It drew them out.
However reticent the tucked dress was,
it had to bleed a little down.
However pinned to stripe the suit,
it spilled an eyelet in the eye cup of the bar
and grill I saw them from.
Is this unclear?
I was attracted to the glasses there.
Some full of purple corked, some pure, unstoppered mud,
and all about what disappears.
Whoever leaves revises everybody else's eyes.
You will not see me anymore.
And that is why the world cannot stop moving."