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Uploaded on Nov 28, 2011

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Uploaded on May 30, 2011

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curled into a ball like a child longing familiar warmth
shoulders grown sore from reaching so far to her own hands
her eyes are the lamps
slowly guiding
in intervals everything dissipates,
but at murray street a crooked flag hangs in a window
skeleton trees pierce the grey sky
and the street bleeds in red and green watercolors
that imply rhythm,
that impose direction.
becoming white, they blind in their wake
glances offer the guise of a wanted return
until finally
seven dark and forgotten steps
stumbling forward like a drunkard longing familiar warmth
shoulders grown sore from reaching so far to noone’s hands
her eyes close.