~*~
1.
For sleeping only, we would be simple.
Damp would wrap us over, make us quiet, and stumble us off.
For sleep we would be trance-walking.
But City snarls by waking our windows open.
City stuffs our waking tight with sticking cotton.
Howls City wake and be my companions.
2.
City was the first to arrive, grappling with beaded paint against the dirt.We were the first sticky mess gripped.
O glowrious us.
And every time we look at the ceiling, City finds us blind.
3.
City was never a windmill no but what a furnace.
Gasp. Because we’re knee-deep in flood.
Last prayer while the water rise.
Who used to live here left us most moistly embedded in every wall.
Was it the previous who lost us.
Let us empty while we ask fair City.
How many times does wet need a counterpart.
And does it ever when stilled against our habit.
4.
We could have built ourselves carrying gold on our heads.
Could have smelled, small, of mustard.
And then the scatter of us on the floor.
Rooms submerged with us.We could have made each other painted, to trompe l’oiel City.
5.
City built a small room for us, here, once. Stone all over.
Take our slow breath on the mantle. Where we are not breathing.
And what we might please with exhalation.
6.
We are falling over again into lakes, off-balance.
But understand, please.
We only took the buildings to feed.
Theft for lovely City. For hunger and water.
City the thief I could wrap leaves around and make a parcel.
City are the only city hair threaded into it.
Tick Tock.
A cat name. A City name.
~*~
Contributors' Notes : Hives and Covens : Womb Poetry Home