you put the blood back in me, i bled it back
bottomless cup, broken mouth, i am
i mean to sigh out life, it comes out smog and tonight
the sun is orange
it is fire, it is wrapping its
tendrils 'round ever street and every view
highline park at night, the flowers, the concrete, the cut-down trees.
you sew me up, i pop a stitch, i tear at seams
my stuff is meant to flow, to spill into storm drains
i dream sometimes of souls pouring from the shower head
mine, particularly
drenching unknowing hairs
skimming unknown heads.
manahatta, what have you done?
1 comment:
this is so great i won't even comment on the spelling anomalies
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