I am headed to the northwest side of the cityside. The side of the city least felt, fibrous. A folder of bones sewing my city. A folder of gravel. A folder of clay. A burning as the burning of choice has its center. It checked off, chosen, called on to sing.
Sing The Prayer, sang Dawn, hooking
the needle. The sun on the harp & bright stringy
City I’d have whipped up chili to be in. I’d have sat on a futon all nightfalls long. Penumbra of exits linking my city, rehearsals of facts, turgid discourse. Chewing the meat of a chickenbone cursor. I click at the chains. Anchor my city.
We sing/sang Hallelujah. We drive droves thru.
Days driving drivel will it rain today days. On the hinges, the hydraulics, in & out bound. On the top floor of an already broken-in home.
I ratchet, ratchet.
Do dishes in my bra. On the first day of the rest of our lives. I do sing Hallelujah. Glory.
The look I am looking. Fishy.