Sewage fills the air even in the early hours of birds
the donkey’s whipped ass crosses a red light
how can we blame a slab of land for what it has become?
the children grow up too young
tracks of tanks don’t leave their sand
and soon, mist rusts their swings
The sea is a ragged studio background
sewage fills the stomachs of seagulls
how can we blame a flat horizon for what it has become?
a city worn on two sides
a rock[et], scissored tunnels, paper ghosts
a spoon in a socket, love making in darkening rooms
This is how we can blame this city for what it has become
a mirror into the world facing the world
a sewage floods into the sea covers undergrounds
a love letter nestling in a bomb