I lost my head at gound zero.

I am near “the Pile.” Too near…

Planes gone astray. This was not meant to be or was it?

Water is close, I smell it. My keen sense of wonder and longing.

I wish I was a carrot but nature determined my fate.

A man looked down at me and said I was ugly.

He pulled but I resisted.

My sister has half her head. She wears it proudly.

People will notice her for sure. She might get water.

Someone just might step on her.

I am rotting and rancid. I may beyond hope.

I need water. To be a wetted nymph.

**** you, keep those trucks away.

A flat stump has little chance to survive.

Another man hunched over me and vomited.

That was not nourishment. Why are drunks here at “the Pile?’

Just pieces of flesh and slashes of clothing and twisted metal.

Nobody wants to feed me. Water!

God can see everything. Happiness!

A good New York rain!