Sunday, May 23, 2010

Fire Escape Snapshot

The back view from my

building is less busted

whilst buried deep,


everything outside my window

seems more silent

under the white inches,

the dusty hand of winter

at the throat of this scene,

squeezing Bushwick’s larynx

pinching tight the thick drone

of bus groans, cop patrols,

and Puerto Rican telephones

between it’s thumb and forefinger,

leaving only a swirling howl

to carol in the air

over the bare expanse of broken backyards

littered with tangled brush and trash

over cracked patios turned icy battlefields

for twilight combatants clawing each other

at an even keel with such guttural hissing,

displaying their feline zeal,

This tournament goes unnoticed

by my neighbors,

their eyes on their pots gurgling

with bubbling meals,

the affairs of the cold most

unwelcome in the tiny warm cells

in which they are sealed.

1 comment:

  1. This reminds me of respiration from Black star really captures that soul of BK.