Communication sent between colors
has no meaning. Meanwhile, you yearn
for purpose amidst plaster safe-havens.
The children fall asleep in city streets
and dream green and brown covered
in red and blue, anxious for the day
that all they have to worry for is starvation.
Which will be the first for your sepulcher?
Exposure or drugs or any other unclean
invader of your sterility? And yet you crave
the sick man sitting only two amputated feet
away, smiling around others also in pain,
knowing running in the light is more tedious
than nothingness. Yearning for that instant
of beautiful survival.
on machine time
sans centuries of self
destruction circuits designed
upkeep a river named
after a professional murderer
this is the saga of a Dutchman
the people he killed
are now only known
Music was invented here
in this state of mind sitting
in a building’s existence,
or rather our means of listening.
Across the Delaware River
an 80 foot tall American flag
rests stuck on red brick
painted broken history.
The crumbling structures
on water’s both sides
warfare and European men.
A pale blue bridge still stands
and this amber beer still tastes
stale and my heart still palpitates.