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.