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is it weird?


to like that vexatious sensation
of sweat coating your clothes
sticking to your arms
your legs
so your hair is
cemented
to your face
your skin
laminated
with a sheen of
transudation
perspiration
all by virtue of it not being
within your comfort zone


so you’ll be forced to
delve
into life

 


to inhale deeply
the scent of rain
on cement
on hot pavement


of a dirty city in July


the constant state of
   sog
   mug
weighing you down
so you can take the
    time
and notice
each person trekking by
truding
through the tides
of a city street
through each
miniature
kaleidoscopic
ocean


the smell of a
sodden subway station
of each being’s
waterlogged 
drapes
on their
   head
   body


the satisfaction of being
sheltered
in a mechanically
illuminated
cave


no way to air-dry


to wander
alone
in the city
naught to do
so time
lingers


slower

 


than

 


usual


 




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