Spine, Sparks, Blossom, Moonless

Posted on by Utopian Citizen

I sit in bed and I wonder what you are doing.
Are you sitting on your windowpane?
T-shirt pulled over your knees,
the hard knobs of your spine
knocking against your milk skin.
I wonder if you too are staring into the moonless night
watching the trees dance?
Have you noticed the change in seasons
since we’ve last spoken?
How Winter has seceded to Spring
and every blossoming daisy 
only serve to mark the distance
between now and then?
I wonder.
Did you know?
That our last time would be the last?
No sparks, no fire
just mouths and tongues?

If You Took the Time to See

Posted on by Utopian Citizen

 Notice the Sun bleeding a crimson creek
 across the unforgiving autumn sky,
 nocturnal lights kissing your sunken cheek.

 Blinking screens have rendered your brain bleak,
 blind to life and God, but does your mind’s eye
 notice the Sun bleeding a crimson creek?

 When faith’s defined by popular mystique 
 and time distorts perception, we defy 
 nocturnal lights kissing your sunken cheek.

 But time is not subject to our critique,
 and God has not been known to speak, so why
 Notice the Sun bleeding a crimson creek?

 For true sight resides at your widow’s peak
 Where your third eye lies you may come by
 nocturnal lights kissing your sunken cheek.

 I walked alone and forgot how to speak 
 somewhere along deserted paths. But I
 notice the Sun bleeding a crimson creek,
 nocturnal lights kissing your sunken cheek.

Of Lifeless Bird and Giants

Posted on by Utopian Citizen

Last night New York put on her lights,
impregnated with souls in search of direction
she wrapped herself around us; a quilt against
the autumn breeze. In the Silk Stocking District,
Chanel No 5 seeped through her pores
dancing in our nostrils. The clickety-clicks
of Red Bottoms Heels against the pavement marked
the tempo of a New York Minute. 

There was no morning.

Children across the five boroughs 
lineup against fire retardant walls or 
curl up under miniature desks, or cry.
My city is buzzing with a noise so loud 
we can barely hear the steel and glass on concrete.
Her lungs fill with smoke, as a lifeless bird
amputates her with the precision of a butcher.

The suffocating sound of sirens serves as 
background music. Police officers and
firefighters deliver a dance they’ve never rehearsed. 
Where once stood, tall and proud, giants of steel
testament to our strength as a nation,
are no more than graves for thousands. 
We watch as the second of two giants 
sink from his pedestal.