Untitled
eyes shocked
doors to the world
nearly and closely
in the chain reveal
cut stems
safely into the fire
revel of hips
I am not great
Native American, foreign Italian
In the light of her lamp
through applied belief
a few years back
love-sick eighth graders
simply his aristocratic training
the dark serves them
How can I be content?
I am not the city you know
On the alleyway thermals,
Now it is perhaps clear
Revision:
Untitled
In the alleyway,
a flimsy chain fence reveals
cut stems tucked into fires.
In the light of the lamp,
through their applied belief,
I am not perfect .
A few years back,
amid a revel of hips
with her simple training,
"How can I content
these love-sick American foreigners
served in darkness?"
Now it is clear,
I am not the city you know.
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