6th Street Skin

6th Street settles

On the skin

 

Years of built in

Built up

Torn down

Ruins renewing

Itself like a tire

Turning clockwise

With the seasons

 

And I lose my

Skin among

The stink of zen

 

Like an onion

Without

tears

 

On 6th street

In a car

 

The zen smell

Of detachment as

I look at my people

From inside the car

At a safe distance

 

The smell goes

Into the pores of

The poor

 

The smell of

Flowers

Urine

Incense sticks

 

(and fish sauce tossed

In for good measure)

 

And somehow

It isn’t

Right

 

The stink was

Too much

To bear

 

Get out of

My car! A voice

Says

 

Buddah’s breath

A vague

Hiss

 

And I get

Out

 

Leaving

The stink

Behind

 

On 6th

Street

 

Reclaiming

My skin

 

 

© 2017 Tony Robles

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