City Lights

I was 19 when I started running - it was a night like this -

not different or lighter,

the heaviness was all over the place,

the edges were as thick and the sounds were

raining

until much later they died -

Its looks and feels like its that night again, a half dead sun and a toast moon in its sway,

tall and breathless, its giant body crawls delicately between the tall trees and taller buildings

without eyes.

an avalanche somewhere, a letting go, a run,

a slush of garbage flowing out until the pipes explode and

the rot lies out on the streets -

I cannot get home, there isn't a door left I haven't tried,

its perhaps, to be caught between the folds, in the thick white cloth that ties the blood with the

sea,

the rush of dead things,

the beautiful is always buried here

in the soft curve of the night -


Looking for a light a torch something to craft an opening as the music begins to chant from

the stars

swiftly pass across

the floor is life and

the sky is hung out to dry on electric clotheslines

in between I -

and its still that night, the one locked in the suitcase and the one that turns like a plastic doll

on a spring

the one where I am 19

and the soundless keep taking,

the weight of flesh is choking

the birds on white wings lead to islands

from the cracked bed -

that night, that night.

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