I kept thinking of bombs: Slowly in my mouth
my teeth decay towards a snapping sound
of a broken bite
where age greets itself with such a yellow smile; creaking
towards our new meeting are such flashes of voice
spoken from the dusty wardrobes of my brain; Narnia
frosting forth wind and witches, a sometimes gasp of fun;
but I would never open any door nor thing that wide enough. The city
is big is absurd is grey and I play the songs I am supposed to
upon entering,
and look: the bricks scrape the sky when they come together:
what have we built here? with our messages? Twin planes crashed
here years ago and the sounds of those collapses echo,
hence now, with my headphones.