I'll trace the city
In fractured pianos: Ode
to concrete seashells.
Watching the cents drift
In the commoners rip tide,
This is my final
Letter to the shattered hour
... my index finger
Is starting to bleed along
The deaf man's footsteps
through that shattered court house.
This is closure: I.
Split these lips on sidewalk stones
Searching for my home.
Chewing glass with my
Favorite alcoholics,
I'll sip the shards
Until the blunt edge is yours,
and this asphalt shore
Can avoid the seagull's cry
... love is suicide.
Helping hands spitting
Blood from makeshift stigmata,
Listen to my palms.
Neo-nature needs to swim,
Spill the earth again;
These city walls speak in tongue,
So hold your breath.
Goodnight my fallen
Orchard of rotting apples,
We're almost home.