I Want To Tell Them

I want to tell them about the sky.

And how they painted it wrong, and the painters are blamed for a document of the stars created in 1603. And how funny of a tribute it is to have a sailor's map on the ceiling of a train station.

Instead I tell them the story disjointed ly, letting little pieces fall out of my mouth. I want to be graceful and commanding as the view. And I am here in the ground.

The tiny rectangle that the Crab is pointing to? That's all that is left of the smokers sky, and all those lungs who look similar have long since stopped breathing.

1913, everyone would have worn hats. And been thrilled by the notion of the Zipper.

Let's stay out of the way of commuters.