How does she recline on this delible day
In those ribbons of bruise her back
Creased by the vertex of car sandwich tiers
These stacked slabs of slots--the periodic
Numbered accommodations of this year's
Motto of mobility? She runs down
Done in outside the locus of brand royalty
Awaiting the accumulation of lunchtime.
Whatever else I'm not
Am I not as her as me?
I pray to doubt.
I can't find the space to leave to lose
These roots to tender the truth about me
I try this is not me I try again
Is it nothing again breaking outward
Dispersed with the crucible suspended
Whole on hot tongues? Remind me
How my consequences funnel light.
Hold up these fire-worn branches
Know the unsung numbers
Of our secrets through this soil.
Give us back