Urban Wanderer

The corpse of the day

Lays in the shadows

Out under the low trees

 

My tongue is swollen

With vibration and hum

 

An irrational choking

Of litter and neon

 

The ground is close and over-trodden

Coming up to swallow

With rough teeth made of weed and stone

 

So I sigh around my tongue

And

Melt

Waiting to be spit out

Into evenings inhospitable atmosphere

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