deepundergroundpoetry.com
Cityscape's Morbidity
The cityscape's morbidity comes into bloom
and I can't forget all the rubbing of scars
and the "there there" I'll fix you with a selfish heart;
I'll miss you when I can't push in you
because even when you frown beneath me
you wriggle and squirm as though your wings
never existed.
We paint God's eyes on our eyelids
close our eyes,
become Aztec gold returned,
slowly unraveled from soft, Spanish cloth.
Life is love and love is flesh going nowhere
because we're convinced that all we need
is wrapped for us in a parcel of skin.
These roads are veins that take our freedom
constantly returning us to the city's heart.
The cityscape's morbidity comes into bloom
and the illusions are growing quicker than concrete.
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