i wander by the skeleton trees each evening
with coffee in my hands:
the steam unfolds
inhales the frost-
bite. the ring and patter of the guitar
behind me pushes and
the trees lean up against the steel black fence:
a group of dogs(the restive tramps)
awaiting their meat:
they shift in the deadness of shadows.
as an Adult pats
an urchin’s dirty head
their lowest limbs stroke the sidewalk(silent smoke
makes men cough
soot, and clasp their ears
between their browner branches
the faded yellow price-tags
cluster like insects(dead).
bright electric lights
(white and green and red)
hurry through five-o-clock dark:
the shining, glinting smiles
of vendors wedged between them.
but smells, they splatter across the page:
wood parts the city smoke
and heady perfume
like a sharp silver knife: still stinging
my eyes with the cold of night.
falls like snow
deafens me between the roars
of black trucks
and splashes of dark blue
puddles huddled beneath their wheels.
the bound up christmas
pines wear bark backs
against december chill
and bleed their sap in urban air.
they dream of oak and fur,
no, i do not dance with trees at night
(waltzing through darkness while
hair is combed backwards by needles).
I simply remember to measure
the height of my room
it’s that time of year when we hold plump strands of nature in our living room like beautifully aging martyrs.