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I turn onto the street and am greeted by shiny apples,

i walk with dandelions, green stars of concrete, wild grasses, trees, cultivated flowers, thick slabs of concrete shades of grey, brown, will i ever get to the blue house at the end of the street, i remember it, there, it's late fall,

i miss everyone,

the kids at the playground talk about how much their uncles have paid for their respective air pods, pods, pods, i think about the word, i think about words for home, for community, is pod one of them?


Pod/Pód/Substantiv, maskulin [der] GEOLOGIE

1. periodisch mit Wasser gefüllte Hohlform

A container, a vessel, something to hold.


What is love but a constellation of significances. What is love if not a pod, a container to be in, to hold and be held. Here a selection of significances i see along the walls on germaniapromenade as i continue past the playground:

"stop femicide" "kurds" and the multi gendered anarchy symbol


Opposite the playground there's the smokers only "germania eck", on the menu:

beer and coffee. not my pod exactly, such is life in a city,

we coexist in our respective pods, we don't have anything in common but our breath? i continue walking


At the end of the street past the blue house there is a power box it reads




if anything it is this


this ______pause here

i take up space in the precision of my breath

wie riecht deine straße? am eigenen körper?

what are you up to here it looks lovely?

how are you doing this morning?

would you like to take a walk sometime?

i moved here two years ago. i used to live here 50 years ago. it was a bauernhof.

the cows were over there. i wrote some of this graffiti. i've been hoping to meet my neighbours. i used to live in brazil. me, too. i miss it. i just moved here.

was macht ihr da. thank you. schade, dass es nicht mehr schneit, immer regnet, früher hat die sonne weniger geschienen, mehr geschienen, so nice to meet you.

i take out some chalk and we draw a bag a container a pod around the dandelions and the frame swells it's not too late on the cobble stones and cigarrette butts to love on new friends it's not too late doorsteps where i had learned to draw

it's not too late on those you miss

it's not too late on those you don't yet know

it's not too late to love...would you care for an apple?

what if i told you that i had been waiting for a friend like you?

we can share as much or as little as we like.

we don't owe anything other than this here, this breathing

by a.Monti



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