(((( Skin City
In the city half witness to fractions,
where the heart is in house decline,
and stillbirth and still more murder
speak of absence (or the queen of brands)
there is no equinox, and runways
travel no closer to it
in the city of separation
and dreams of drugs that love not
only around the edge of the badly-stapled
- of whom I am one - hungover
from illusions of connection
undone and still
no closer to it in the city - peeling back
this skin of longing seems an impossible task
and it hurts to feed the rid dance
a strong goodbye is only temporary I know
you’ve heard songs that I’ve heard
but I still can’t see you
in the city where constant
movement is protecting I know
you are out there
resident criminals against the law
replenishing aeons in slow sex
breaking use, never finishing
in the city we don’t need no
entrepreneur parson publisher common dominator
who feed the illusion of separation
just because we haven’t yet learnt how to flow
in interruption and curve, non-possess, and caress.
The city grows in eruption - I live all I live in the city in me
This poem has been set to music by Jonathan Daou
audio file available on 48th parallel project and archive of the now