Sean Thomas Dougherty

Untitled

One thing that can save: the green darkness. One thing that can save: You tell. Troubles be I am a stranger. Troubles be: I eat. Where pain opens its delicate machinery, one thing that can save for certain: Baseball. Tito Puente rojoing from a passing car. A fine breath for nobody's temple. At night the flame rises high over US Steel, a towering light in the distance from the State Fair where a teenage girl is trembling. A circus teller looks into her globe. Every choice involves losing something. Across the boulevard, a gang of Russian boys flexing their new tattoos. Someone whispers the word Santeria. On the crowded boardwalk I dropped a quarter, found the word SOVENIERS stenciled in a doorway, a tall man with two stumps played the harmonica, the green darkness. The gypsy looked up. The girl on the street turned towards me - I saw her face. The one thing that can save for certain. At the end of the curve of the earth.