l1ly

where the time weeps

how are your poems

did you notice those that read

at dark about the dark

did you see the poor blasting the poorer

what of the cars left littered

waiting for a dead battery to move again

those that seep loneliness only a forgotten language

can speak

did you close yourself

to the bars full of empty people

who know bottles are shaped smoothly to practice holding

or choking

the flowers that hold no smell for night

the telephone booths with lines long since silent

the phonebooks hanging as dead men feet with no where left to go

the birds that call to morning for then they have something to do

the nesters that yell to shut up shut up i’mma trying to sleep

the city which does

which pretends not to

which is lost

and homeless

with entire streets as mattresses for those undressed by the unrest

of a revolution that must’ve happened but they accidentally missed right

for they wouldn’t be left like this right

and if they were

then that wouldn’t be right right

though only the bursting streetlights answer at the wrong time

when there is an engine to fix or a bike to steal or a poem to write

that no one will read and those that will

will not understand the point of it all

for it wasn’t it all

just enough

to get one person

through one day

at least once

until it ends

undone