Apartments of windows,ncomplexes of complexes,nopportunities saunter by as the ghosts of interpretation breathe.nnBarely alive,nbarely affecting the colors shown through from the walls behind.nnSwallowed and engulfed, the hands,nthe hands communicate an urgency.nnA spark from these city walls and the whole place would go down,nstill cleaning up after itself,nbut down just the same.nnThe only common bonds left are the ones that travel silently by train.nnDormant and stuffed in our ears,nfriendships now replaced by common decency.nnSo this is posturing...nin this light we all look a little anxious,nand lonely like carnivores.nnIf only a gun were pulled,nthat might divert some of the attention away.nnWe all sleep awkward with our bodies.nnShoulders,nshould-haves and wide eyes in to the haze,nthe truth is so evident.nnBreath falling off the tails of cigarette smoke into conversations and smokescreens...