We gradually escape
in the unwanted hours of morning
when the sea wraps it's legs round the night
and chokes the light out of it's sickly throat.

The cancellation of purpose
that exists to amuse and arouse the mundane
talks in circles round the fire
until our breath is smoke signals, until we no longer breathe.

The multitude of interpretations
for a revolutionary action
have permitted the chosen
to act out in the mouth of their mothers.

The screaming child
bleeds into the concrete
until dust and ash are the same
and no one will even try and pull them apart.

I walked lower manhattan for 3 hours
and not a single person made eye contact
we all just kept staring at that tower,
scratching our heads and massaging the knots in our necks.

08/14/2013