a found typewriter poem

Is he older? I asked her. And I never got an answer, because at the moment she disappeared in a puff of smoke. I like to think nothing ever happened to her save that she went over to the spirit realm. I usually know better though.

Look, I say—look here—at this old placewhere nothing changes.Look at the peoplewho pass by. Look atthe trees. The flowersfull of wanting: lookhow full they are withcolor. Look how they mockus, empty people whomust fill themselveswith changes—emptiness.

There is nothing to bebut happy. There is nosadness to fall downlike cherry petals.“

The [trees don’t under-stand:]trees they are tootall to see the germof discontent in us.