Platform, Brooklyn

Some times, walking down the street, when the mind is just right, I see the little flinty bits up and in between people's eyes. Other times I see their heart beating in their chest. I can't tell which one it is that I am looking into them for. Do they have diarrhea? On the subway today I thought of many friends who dot the West Coast. Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, Santa Cruz, Santa Barbara, Los Angeles, San Diego. As age sets in the feeling of belonging slips little by little until a vast sense of lonely uselessness is the operative stage. I wonder when this will recede, when things will get back to normal. Will it happen gradually, unnoticed? Will it need the hand of God? Does it happen at all? And then I look around at that little space between a stranger's eye and, if my mind is just right, nothing is bothersome.

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