on the back corner next to a coffee shop where no one knows we are

this is a culture
of rubble.

this is a culture
of choosing carefully
the right words,
the right people,
being sure you
belong where
you feel you should
belong, where
you want to belong.

this is a culture
of stars,
which is to say
this is a culture
of living in
the past,
focusing on
the future.

in some cultures
you wear a certain type of hat
if you are married,
a certain type of hat
if you are not.

in some cultures
generosity
and humility
are of the most
highly respected
and pursued
traits.

this is a culture
of roads gone back
to gravel,
to pebble,
to dust.

this is a culture
pummeled
by a conceptual Self,
the demand to
adorn it,
the howling flame
of procurement.

i am going to
get mine,
this culture
says.

i contribute to the culture
by wanting.

i contribute
by walking down the street
and looking people in the eye.
not always smiling.

i contribute
by trying to make money.
by paying to live.

i contribute
by selling things to people.

i contribute
by writing down these ideas.

i contribute
by desiring attention,
desiring touch.

i contribute to this culture
by marking my body,
feeling it separate,
guiding it towards what it wants,
a focus on attainment.

the rain falls from
a cloud
that is set against
the sky.

the rain falls from
a cloud
and touches
my bare skin.

my bare skin,
set against
the sky.

nothing lasts means
both that
nothing lasts
and that
nothing lasts.

do you see?

do you see it
there,
set briefly
against the sky?