2009-04-14
dreams of cities i've never been to or sides of them i've never seen
packed dirt floors, lamplit stalls with scruffy dogs curled in corners: indian bazaar. indigo clouds billow in the sky framing crumbling brick towers, windowless as if some great hand scooped out the contents of each room before retreating; roaming gangs of children, eyes fogged and glassy, trampling dewey hills. concrete schoolyards the size of swimming pools in the cramped suburbs of mexico city, with men: gangly, decrepit, greasy, wrinkled, some with hats and mustaches, dangling their dusty shoes over the lip. oily black night skies and treeless concrete flanking rows of brick buildings, held up only by each other; neon glows escape from gaps in doors chained shut, insides exposed momentarily by tremors of wind that rake the streets.
tinteardrop at 10:47 p.m.