Shadowy unruly pendants; the tales
of fate misguided, the language of
drowning without answers.
Like potted houseplants turning into
the sun, people wait for that taste of a
good watering.
Every corner holds the treasure for
an attempted escape.
A piano without tune falls silent.
A ceiling fan spins out of boredom. A
floor lamp imagines it’s a missile waiting
for a lighted match.
The city holds its occupants hostage.
Stop lights hold back the green. Subways
rattle without stopping. Cabs run for cover.
The city is caretaker till the last breath.
