(the exercise from today based off the prose piece)
You were just a city then,
a bronze skyscraper,
the embodiment of headlights,
tailights, asphalt, amateur graffiti.
The fog in your hair froze
all the city's breakers, and I crawled
beneath your bridges, burning
Saturday afternoon traffic.
All the while you hung off cranes
aiming a slingshot to stun pidgeons
and place them in your central park.
Now you're something like a river,
making me dizzy, swimming through
flooded subway stations, where I pray
for the bubbling of a piano,
soundwaves under water-ways
where fish swallow arpeggios, chords,
rests. Your iron is wasting away,
but there is no hesitation. Wet feet
sink in pebbles, mud, landing
at the mouth of some great continent
without cities, without bronze,
whose Saturdays sink like silt.
No comments:
Post a Comment