after the procession
snow covers the monument
the tree-punctured sky
does not speak
an engine grinds
through the heart
of every brick
ridiculed to the point
of treason—
an avenue is not for walking
the ancient city
heaves up its dead
in the fliers and posters
that cover concrete walls—
the weight–
our armor,
our weakness
messages in cursive
stare hard at the face
in front of you
to remember
yourself before—
the lines and creases
words writhing
someone left the door ajar
to instinctive cruelties
to get out from the wall—
once it breaks, it breaks.
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