A sharp black-brown smell puttering through
the air,  keeping rhythm with the cycles race
around the city as I glimpse at the street below,
reminding me of cubism learned in another world.

Clutter in French, Chinese, Vietnamese, and
English overlapping the underlying threat
of death and dissolution of a culture.  Everyone
living to exist with comfort and happiness.

Breathing fresh without making a bargain
for prosperity. Wonderful and exotic
Wind and dust in my face fighting for position
in the crowd, my cyclo driver is my savior.

Living in a cubist world, never knowing
acceptance or how to escape from the
geometry that wraps around my mind.
sounds, smells and movements

when I was young with little to lose