daphne

sitting under a depthless tree
in the midst of summer deportation hearings.
somewhere between the thick air and the ground,
summer is heaving around us..
lifeless, incapable of being able to lift myself from the dredges of humidity,
from the absence of your being.
leaving the city made things comfortable,
and its quiet at night now.
nothing disturbs the way the old zones did.
not the sounds of bars howling
not the flipping of locks from the inhabitants of doors adjacent.
somewhere you found me,
lost beneath the pavement
crying, for a destitute shoulder
a lover, another broken fetus.
the wounded of the earth,
suffering in silence.
who are we to sit here despondent, until the day we inevitably expose the other for the failure that wears bruised flesh and organic cotton.
i still wonder if you're out there..
when i stare at the skyline beyond the trees here.
the skyline that i once craddled beneath torpedo windows.
somewhere amongst the culminations of crimson light and parking tickets floating to the heavens.
i stare out past the train tracks here.
i listen to songs from powderlipped tombstones from the seventies,
whilst southern crunk rolls by.
whilst glasses break.
the world denotes your origin and instead presses upon me something much more collaborative.
wine socials and medical bills.
this state wants me to pick out china patterns and floss a little baby's teeth.
this state has accusations and perscriptions for my hostilities.
the abnormality of all things private.
but inbetween the stiffness in my neck and the constant conotations to vomit.
i think there might be something here.
beyond the nearly naked hipsters.
where you're vowless.



/close./