October 5, 2009


we are fire, lungs autumnal with
stinging eyes into the dawn.
we have no legs to rest beneath us,
but turbines cutting against the ground.
now we’re spitting in the stairwells,
surrounded by another’s sound,
burning between the bricks and tree trunks
learning how to stick around.
and with our fingers thin as wire,
we’re strapping on our shoes of pin.
our necks bent towards the graces,
asking how to keep our stretch of skin.

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