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"I was inspired to write identity papers |
crossing walt whitman bridge the city rises all night like a galaxy poised burning throngs of strung lights with streaking traffic reds — but O so much more beautiful
She touches me and I am by my own hands amended. She rivers over my rage hot as glasphalt bleeding tar and breaks my parched husk to raise me in love’s shower, and no harm can come to me — She is in each thing that touches me and in my roots’ genealogy, one with the wilding city even dressed in derelicts and addicts with gasoline-flaming orange hair by polished brass poles and youths decked out in grunge, yet this is all I want — She pours electric lights across the wide and winding rivers overflowing with liquid neon — She nestles in the soft halogen fog of her scraped — but no purer — skies by towers straight as search lights rise — She holds my veins’ mortal wishes in her serpentine coilings and desires deeper than soil is — She is the light in the darkness the beacon still unbroken but O so much more beautiful
from
identity papers
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© 2002 Drimala Records |
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