the move is done, from may to july, from country to city, cardboard boxes taped full of stuff you forgot you ever owned or regretted buying on sale had to have garage sale deal better off without if only there was an available dumpster for the bullshit. endless forms and papers that protect banks and mortgage lenders from losing their precious pennies they want to lend to you with a smile and a blue ball point pen. borrowed and leased vehicles, some packed efficiently, others oh fuck, let's get this over with, shifting contents with every turn and sudden stop, damn, this is a big truck to empty again again, again... you get it. now, we're all happy to be in the Village that's really a city with its back end butted against that east cleveland blight, they say. I don't know. seems pretty good here, that popular buzz about diversity - every gender identity and race with healers and poets, transcendental dopers, old lady dog walkers scooping fresh fecal lumps from the neighbor's tree lawn, young black couples - boy and boy, girl and girl - holding hands skipping down the street singing a song, they think oz is up the incline and around the corner, they don't care (why should we), the overstuffed transvestite top has five o'clock shadow and wants to fight anyone who says otherwise, and too fast drivers from stop sign to stop sign on the phone 'cuz Lord knows your life is so small you better fill it with blah-blah-blather like a wide-eyed epicurean got his hands on an all you can eat without getting sick buffet. the boxes are now in every room of the new house, undecided about where they'll stay or go. burn 'em, I say, for a fresh start.