And the house-less, home-less, place-less, loneliness of Eugene streets bicker with themselves as the orange morning breaks.
There are spoils to be divided from the student housing dumpsters.
A man with nothing still wants something, and apparently that’s me today.
Slow orienting to spikes of sunlight on 13th Street.
Go east toward the coffee shop then further to an ancient campus with giant trees that bloom garden flowers.
Further east and the coffee will drive you into a mossy field of grave stones.
The big pine canopy – sticks in mud – chin-up above the buried, caring nothing for names forgotten.
And the names of my characters on the stones of three.
Milk deliveries and lawn mowers.
Community outreach buses shuttling overdose patients and anxiety fakers to the hospital lobby – not really knowing who is who.
Perfection running in one direction.
Pages turning softly with each passing city block.
