Racing

Mild beams of light, rendered apparent, in concert with cold, glide before me, in symmetrical shapes, filtering, my anxiety, bringing my 4000-step walk, to fruition.  Your diction resonates for me, and I can tolerate your inaccessibility, but why must you be disproportionately, attuned, to disgust?  Whereas, in song, your brokenness is ethereal.  I cannot help but register a tinge of surprise each time the italian guys smile respectfully at the black ladies.  Perhaps I should sit all day in the teeming pizza shop and observe the sincere goodwill that passes among those politicians call -- ordinary.  Maybe that would empty me.  At the fruit store, the MTA worker inquired of the price of lemons and, upon learning they are three for a dollar, she purchased a third.  And the young, gay, black barista regarded with contempt the disorganized latina woman requesting a napkin.  Feelings of envy linger less, as acceptance arises more easily, and gratitude is better recalled – from the faces of these warm, intelligent children.   So I should direct activism at myself, and against this inundation -- of heartlessness.