i am standing at a high window

it overlooks the city

i attempt to correlate the emptiness

of the thin blue sky with the vacuum

that is my life

one of desperate predicaments

I think of poems and poetry hear them voiced

become confused, for I don't know if

poetry is the poison or the cure

i feel an evocation of madness

suffer its reckless inner portent

struggle with its urgent transformations

breathe a continuity of collective emotions

and fear the mediocritized collective of life

i am standing at a high window

it overlooks the city

a city elliptically compressed

in my stampeding mind

i am standing in a city

it overlooks a high window

there is a poem involved in a violent scene

a confrontation with the inexpressible

I am standing in a poem

There is no city just a high window