I see you shampipupu...

I see you shampipupu...

...Standing on the strasse eck

In the deafening field 

Of the tediously slow

And piercing

Crosswalk signal

On this Sunday afternoon

So stoic and unsatisfied.

Licking this conical mediocre milky mess

With the enthusiasm of a knackabrot

One drop of cream drips down your hand

And your face crinkles with irritation and disgust

At just the notion that the fibers of your muscles 

Will have to arrange themselves in in some formation of self preserving movement

Maybe even knock the dust off your joints 

Your lips are rolled 

Tight, livered, and bitter

And your ear stand back 

Forming your face into a lemon squirted anus

And with a deep and concerning breath 

 finally you wipe

And wait

For the light

What an interruption in a day of nothing

A day of planning 

your feeble attempt to control

This old city, 

Just something

 in this nothing day

This culmination of this nothing week

Which is sandwiched between some more empty nothing holidays

Where next to nothing happened

Map in hand, or mind

To set the path that one should not divert

And disturb the strict algorithm of the circle of stress

In such utter effort to resist

Any sort of action

That may include the option 

To carry on a legal style discussion

to find some kind of psychological paradox in lieu of activity