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Tuesday, April 12, 2016

IF



If what were left
of you
was water
instead of dust
I'd drink a little
of you
each day
and piss you out
in the mornings
like dew drops
on the heather
then wait for you
to rise
into the clouds
and  pray
for stormy weather

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

THE ONLY CONCRETE THINGS IN LIFE



Sidewalks speak
of cig butts and spittle,
old women in door stoops,
poetry cafes and musty smelling bookshops--
the clack of high heels,
the cadence of raindrops,
and children running.

Sidewalks speak
of jackhammers, sirens, and horns--
of just before,
and the moment after,
the corner store
and the ring of laughter.

Sidewalks speak
of dog shit, baby carriages, and
ice cream cones melting in the sun.
Of epithets hurled, flags unfurled,
five o'clock shadows, gutters,
teenagers on the run.

Sidewalks speak
of swirling lights
painted faces
and tango dancers.
Sidewalks speak...
but no one answers.

Sidewalks caution:
WATCH YOUR STEP!
for the road twists and bends.

Life is a nameless corner
where the sidewalk ends.