High heels on concrete clack Train—bell clang and engine rumble, squealing wheels on tracks, metal on metal, too close Garbage truck as if through living room Young man clan talking too loud all three to five at once past my window Dog bark, near Old junkie on the corner yells violent mads at bypassers and I’m in here Car horns, always car horns Feminine laugh—I wonder Man snorting—I don’t Building across the street has a front door security code that I’d have cracked by now if all the tones weren’t the same That motorcycle, jesus, why Doors slam shut in the hallway inside behind me and voices Inside behind me and voices Silence never, only noiseless spaces and I turn in
After dusk now, and dark in here, save for the closet light spilling into the bedroom. Windows are open. Streetlights. My old first floor flat, about four feet above sea street level. I sit and listen, sit and watch from the couch from the dark in here, sit and slip into reality, where it’s all imaginary and I can feel it coming on.
A crack in everything, and something comes.