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.



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