At the foot of beige skyscrapers, I stood,
my eyes tangled in gnarly trees,
resting atop the dead.
Their voices lay quiet beneath their head-
stones. Their bodies lay still, shriveled,
silent each passing day.
I watched as my fingers kissed headstones, flakes
of aged lives raining o’er the earth
and dusting hairy hands.
my eyes tangled in gnarly trees,
resting atop the dead.
Their voices lay quiet beneath their head-
stones. Their bodies lay still, shriveled,
silent each passing day.
I watched as my fingers kissed headstones, flakes
of aged lives raining o’er the earth
and dusting hairy hands.