Scythe Swag Side Stalk - Poem 6 (Home)

Welcome bells,
Hurt my ears.
Sad farewells,
But no tears.

Cover up my evidence,
And my badge.
Jam my head full
With the new age.

Doors move aside,
Hands wave,
Management’s perpetual
And lonely façade.

The road taps my feet,
As if to remind me.
I am liberated.
My life is now my own.

My pace the heartbeat,
I lose myself,
In ice-cream van jingles
And swearing toddlers.

The city in my lungs,
I breathe out the ground.
Flowing from my drains,
Onto the porous chest.

Worms surface,
Seeking my smog,
My terraced shoulders,
Run them over.

My clanking metal arm,
Echoes to the heartbeat.
As my Enterprise rattles,
Through the veins.

These are the times
The mind my newspaper.
The dirty blood,
Drowning cells.

I rise
And my mains uproot.
I shrug off trees,
Like Carbon.

Waxen wings
Scrape the sky
Tearing me a hole,
A way to the sun.

I grow towards it,
Inclining my roosts,
Stretching my straits
And unfurling my wires.

Dirt falls from my windows,
Pigeons from my corners.
The sky forms my surface
The dust my back.

But my basement
The pavement
My ideas
The floor

My intellect
The architect
Of this
Jemmied door.

The void, my living room,
The lock my shame,
The dead still warm,
On the small window pane.

With dirt on the sheets,
And wind in the air,
I was not so conscious
I was not aware.

There is a line,
Between the law and the crime,
There is a crack,
Between the white and the black.
But there is no thread,
Between the living and the dead,
No time can be drawn,
Between what was here,
And what lies gone.

Señores Guardias Civiles,
Aquí Pasó Lo De Siempre.
Aquí Han Muerto Cuatro Romanes
Y Cinco Cartagineses.

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