after one week

the cars go by
like a cricket's dream.

the road,
to just to left,
feels like
it's 100 miles away.

and this table,
where i sip
my coffee, just
isn't stable.

it still doesn't make
sense,
even after one
week.

five ladies enter the
shop,
afraid to look
at me,
with a cloud of cigarette
smoke
hovering around my head
like a halo.

i don't expect them
to understand.

non verbal noise
is tricky.