Tuesday, August 3, 2010

St. Germanus

when I walk through your neighborhood,

I hold all of my bones in my pockets.

it is difficult to move, let alone

step over all those cracks in the sidewalk.

I think about how many backs I’ve broken

and imagine that these train tracks

that rumble above the street are vertebrae.

A bone bridge to the next rambling intersection.

I stare into the eyes of someone who is not you.

I feel nothing. We are lit matches.

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