passerby, throw your punches
in the air for me as i
covertly steal bricks, pilfered
from sidewalks, do not mind me
i have my bridges to build, all
impromptu assembles, a collage of
old jokes tasting of mothballs
the skyline burns orange and i
am thinking we can do better
than tapping the flash button
tear walls down and devour
printed words, maybe soiled hands
hit harder than under pristine conditions
invisible cuts and bruises untreated
are now taking shape in acceleration
aim sentimental poetry at me,
so i can bleed a strange
assortment of lines, aim better