Stopping off at Democracy Point—favorite spot of teens and miscreants for smoking a spliff, celebrating a positive turn of events or commiserating when shit goes further south. Any new world is a egg. We tap and peck and feel its contours because we must—the imperative to hatch supercedes consciousness. We exist at the edges of things: where sea meets shore; shell meets sky; sky meets land; starlight hesitantly fades into the everlasting void. house wakes up bottom up top down echoing footsteps meet in the middle cats complain about breakfast catch the drift, check the breeze, feel the float we’re higher in the range than we were last night morning coffee tastes good up here campfire in the abandoned mall parking lot off grid ephemeral market, carts and huddles and furtive assemblages lurking in corners of the cavernous abandoned transit station    How many lights in your city? Can you count them? Are they countable? What is each one’s relationship to a soul? up river down wind down river up wind i wanted evidence of others — like, unlike me — all i want to do is eat the underside of the city is what the mouth eats