equinox

the last day of summer is pronounced
with an abandoned volleyball net in the park
sagging into a meek smile over golden, napping bums,
no one notices a newspaper unfolding itself in the wind,
painting the grass grey

the afternoon lowers itself upon us like a warm curse
as we watch solitary neighbors climb their fire escapes to the roofs
clutching dusty atlases and staring out to the boats
drifting across the freezing bay like magnetic particles
lost in the ether of a cell
stuck circling, waiting to come together for the first time

what room is left for myth in the city?
it sometimes feels as though we’ve witnessed
every inch of moveable space—

light endangers itself near the lip of a black ridge
ducking away without so much as an over the shoulder
as darker balloons let themselves in through a tear in the
low-flying fog, the sound of weak chords strummed
on ill-wound instruments at the curb—

the subtleties of our corrosion,
mildew blooming like a veiled monet
from beneath the purity of our bathroom ceiling

and i can hear all the rotten poems out there unfolding,
coughing their way back up the trash chute to my stairway,
and strange threats dangling themselves out of high windows
while a distant car alarm cries out for someone, somewhere

step out to the balcony (under the pavement, pavement)

this morning the cranes delivered
a metallic finger the size of a schoolbus
outside of our apartment, pointing stubbornly
to the east, as though yearning for missing digits-

there’s hardly room as it is for our slender architecture
in these trenches of modernity, conversations of shins
clamoring up escalators to the skylight cataracts-

we sewed this city like an iron quilt,
speedbumps sang a harmonized collision
laying over medians of evergreens-

high-fenced promises of suburbs sprout like sunflowers,
as we wrap our calluses in sunday papers
displaying names of budding skeletons,
and miscarriages of abandoned construction sites-

we’re governing a state of reconstruction,
paving one-way streets around the artery,
scaling fire escapes of our blushing facades
and squatting over pyramids of spare parts-