Friday, February 13, 2015

Friday the 13th

two-faced morning,
dazzling winter sun
over the flat cold creep
blackjacking temples.

the gurgle and roar
of cars expiring
mid-intersection,

the holler of men
carving up streetcorners.

amid strewn salt
strange detritus
frozen into the sidewalk:
rubber bands
childish slips and omens.

a sparrow lost
in the hollow room of night:
she bares her throat to the ground
arrow-straight, empty,
a warning
of claws in my gloved palm.

inside
I scrub my hands,
the water too cold, too hot.


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