StatistacL Poem
Eye looked at the newspaper in the rack and could not tell what the headlines read and the letters blurred and looked like Chinese characters all inked by Chinese hand and nothing that it said can either ever mean a thing to me unless eye become an Editor at the paper or someone like Clark Kent a reportor of the real event. For me the day is over eye am a statistic eye am a displaced person
A homeless shelter in the desert sun
An AnachronYm of one.
