Sought understanding, tracked it through
the subways and side-streets;
found it, shivering, on the pavement
in the middle of a blizzard.
Huddled in grime encrusted strips
that couldn't even call themselves rags,
and when it looked up the gaze received
wasn't the humility seen in a beggar's
wrinkles - it was the seething ferocity
oozing out of a beast that had never known
the bars of a cage...
then,
tossed its head back and howled.
And the startled city snake went flying
on instinct auto pilot, as fast as
scales could slither; all the while
yelling, "But what's the fun in knowin',
it's always been the mysteries that
kept ya guessin'; ya brave little bone dancer
it's so selfish to wish you were still
covered in flesh. Feel that rain falling,
making water outlined patterns that
trickle down the scalp - that make spines
seem like they're made of mud."
Then,
the clothes and faces all slough off
until naked cowardice nests
in every garbage can...
until the smog kissed water is
first to freeze on these barren streets,
on another toe-tag, name-tag, white
as the chalk it was outlined in;
down where the cops march to their own
melodies but can't keep a beat.
Tar stained concrete alleys where feet
walk like whispers in the borders
between the silhouettes carved out
by the disinterested violence;
that punctuates downtown like an ellipsis
made of gunshots. It's like every night
the metropolis hands out notepads
and lets its children play anchorman -
editorial journalism printed in basement
newsrooms, and there's plenty of interviews
but no proof reading. Plenty of black and white
photographs showing the sure signs of
beauty beneath every bruise; each pothole
along the roads, or scar on the side
of buildings caressing the skyline,
just begging for foundation, for granite
based concealer...for stop-sign highlights
and traffic cone eyeliner.
And then,
the crowds converge and shout
out of their megaphones and palm shrouded
mouths, another zygote protest in the
face of firm practices. Each of these
exercises in triage ends in piles of bled
through bandages and dead end hopes, but
anybody who walks along this pavement
puts in hours in the largest free clinic
ever built. Each syllable exchanged is as
charged as a defibrillator...with every patient
on the verge of flat-lining.
and all along the first floor apartments
a sentiment is echoing :
it seems the city snakes who swallowed
the country birds whole have turned inward
and been devoured by their wayward tails.
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Submission Name: City Snakes & Country Birds : Concrete Harvest
