This "Human Condition"

is pain in the spine and a beautiful fall of dark hair, newspapers shouting airplanes and a tear-stained choir, her funky feet and three roses that refuse to die, a blank stare through a monolithic old man and the Big Bird stamp on that baby's chubby right cheek, a carnival or chaos and a single thin red string, a chunking, pounding bassline and a soft belly glistening, it is yellow paperback romances and learning thirty-four ways to say "I Love You," the first cigarette out of the fresh pack opened early on Monday morning and a squealing bike chain, it is three dots, a trinity, it is God's orgasm and the devil's blues on Capitol Hill, it is an extra cup of coffee, a kiss on the cheek; it is hopefully a good night's sleep and it is, hopefully, a beautiful morning inside and outside the bedroom window.

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