They are playing
football in the street
in the dust of the alley
in sweat leather faces
no shoes
they don’t move
aside for the cars
they turn their backs
they don’t give a fuck

have I turned my back
have I a way out
I am alone in the car
I am playing
in the street
I give a fuck

and the Pacific air
might wipe away
the memory of this
as the cumulation
of your sins
might ask of you
why don’t you know
why can’t you see
how things become the way
they are and how
they could be different

I want you to come
with me to the shore
of the street where I first saw it
and remember how
to forget
the spinning
and shapes between
what we have been
the dreams destroyed
in the scorch of the sun
and the ones we make

by stepping outside
everything we know
and becoming something
we don’t