people

 Being somewhere with people.
 Listening to people.
 Their noises
 Footsteps, breathing, the distant conversations of indiscernible words.
 Not white noise. People noise, corporeal dark noise, streaked by lightning.
 Sitting where people sat,
 Touching what people touched,
 Breathing what people breathed.
 Smell of people and sewage in the city streets
 Smell of food and beer in the mouths of the people that
                                                                     [just got out of that restaurant                                      
 The pungent and sweet smell of the lady that just entered the bus.

 And when they’re all gone to their beds, I stay there.
 Sitting where they sat,
 Touching what they touched,
 Breathing what they breathed.
 But now there’s no people, only silence,
 The immense castrophany of solitude.
 Delight in memories,
 In the ghosts of the people that where there but no more.
 A space full of life with myself alone living, singing, screaming,
 Running and rolling on the ground.
 The phantom folk don’t know I’m there, I’m not part of their world.
 My world is mine alone, the game is mine.
 I deal the cards in this reality.
 All around me is my property, I own all people.