all quiet this afternoon, the sky
pulses in its unprepossessing limit
surveyed the intersections with the wane
of tired eyes. in this side of town, yours
the gray-faced pavement, mine the stones left
unturned, pillaged by the children of suspicion,
thrown and must have hurt something,
a bird hurtling in its pace, or a mangled body of a cloud,
wingstalked, stifled to the brim of impinged labor,
depth of sleep is measured by the weight of dream.
all quiet this afternoon, the naked body
of the sky is blue, spun around in penetrating tone.
quick is the flat motion of the quaintest of feet,
this afternoon in Poblacion, heavily veiled and demurred
the vertical climb of morning past the cranes, the monoliths
screaming broken litanies – strange skies are insipid now
thick with the froth and rekindled petrichor,
you told me you had a view of every inch of world
from the 31st floor and now I circled to cut corners
and fold my love for cold fronts, monsoons, storms.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 5:59 AM UTC
all quiet this afternoon, the sky
pulses in its unprepossessing limit
surveyed the intersections with the wane
of tired eyes. in this side of town, yours
the gray-faced pavement, mine the stones left
unturned, pillaged by the children of suspicion,
thrown and must have hurt something,
a bird hurtling in its pace, or a mangled body of a cloud,
wingstalked, stifled to the brim of impinged labor,
depth of sleep is measured by the weight of dream.
all quiet this afternoon, the naked body
of the sky is blue, spun around in penetrating tone.
quick is the flat motion of the quaintest of feet,
this afternoon in Poblacion, heavily veiled and demurred
the vertical climb of morning past the cranes, the monoliths
screaming broken litanies – strange skies are insipid now
thick with the froth and rekindled petrichor,
you told me you had a view of every inch of world
from the 31st floor and now I circled to cut corners
and fold my love for cold fronts, monsoons, storms.
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