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{post impression} paolo rhys 1. [& so there, with your tits. yes, I keep my head down too, but you missed the sun disappear- ing into no thing was the crack in the pavement more of an op- en heart than mine? here, where your boulevard swelled & crumbled, I will draw a map in the dirt, this coin will be love, & this blade of grass me, that dizzy leaf, you (all covered up in bareness). the gravel, the continent between us] how you stayed in my head each night, how I awoke each morning, (at first smiling) & then… 2. if: the ragged color of chutes (umb- rellas, automobiles) streaks into the eye, and the downpour of silence is maddening, and—who knows—(none) better than these walls that madness is hand sewn, stitched to fit every corner, then: unless the rain betrays me, this wet street is one of a thousand all made from your lips, your sleep. |
