THE NYC RABBIT CATCHER
You and your split second imagery
Are but things, things-
The foot-dust has seldom ignored.
Like fireflies to the night-bulb
The maze of life and the maze of life.
Are but rings shattered to my red inflammation.
That blink and blink to no effect claiming
It is the affliction that is housewife and reusable.
Here we show no signs of life.
Swallowing and swallowing to the suns poultice.
I grin and all the photographs are me.
Cigarette morning awoke and smoked, smoked.
The rings deny to beating the butterfly with it's many breaths.
Breathing heavy and smiling I am mad, I am mad.
The beauty of these drowned fields are hypnotizing my pretty womb-housed
patients.
Stone faced, overly canned like vegetables.
We, their proximity, move.
Like mushrooms turning a bald head to the sky.
We are white. They say we are war, we are war.
Knowing nothing of neutrality.
---tyurina allen ©