urbansonnets

Craven cravings for craftiness and light

Sloppily written, but at least it's on

As we drag our feet towards the center of

Spent enough time dreaming to fall apart

The air is purring like a voided breeze,

and the rare birds chirp out their history

as proud humans who dared to touch the trees

and turned to birds – that is their harsh story:

That is how construction works in this world:

we build up just to break down narratives

that we recycle as peasant tongues hurled

from their mouths and buried by nude natives:

I stood for something until corrected,

now I snipe from a crumbling skyscraper;

each shot is even aimed lower, flicted

by the slack body politic's taper:

My posture remains in tact, and I score

each death on the pristine and marble floor.

Those were good times– when the lights didn't buzz

Yo soy romero; trabajo, trabajo

Catholic notions and rosemary sprigs