9th & 6th by David Seth Smith

 

Iron words scaffold in air
beneath, curled fetal
a niche in the artifice
the neighborhood urban
safe but distant
she predominates

In the dream I am gregarious
leaned on the bench diagonally
a small knot of people smile
seedy bars summer night
among shirtless men
she waves me over

Narrative switching to third person
and correcting back to first
They. We. I.
brownstones, ritual fights
am I foolish enough to go?

and you allow yourself
to be a fool for someone
not so much to be healed, but
to be filled in with the warm blown sand
that patches the night

this has passed for closure before
construction of casual lies, allowing
to have the foolishness
held up with one keystone, then pulled
to do it again for someone else

morning traces the shadow of iron lattice
on the front stoop
a fool’s calligraphy
marks the exit
as the city has once again
suffered you to be one

©2017 David Seth Smith

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