Joe shows up like a rainbow
handing out
his magical pieces of lint
wrapped-up in Baggies.
I'm a tumbleweed.
I follow behind him
picking up the scattered
pieces in my hollow limbs.
At the end of the day,
Joe goes home.
I follow.
I break the pieces.
He twists the pieces.
Then, I read his
future in a Celtic
cross. Joe fades like
air freshener, and I
Tumble on. Tumble weed.

Poems Niederngasse, January 2000