NaPoWriMo, 2016, Day 5–soft violence

soft violence

the soft violence of the sword
that severs flesh from flesh

that steals stone from soil
or holes in awnings from

falling bullets, silent as they
settle to earth, as they come

to rest through this, the soft 
skull of the city in the dark

looking at the city, to the north-east, from the corner of Grand and Chouteau, taking the magpie to school at 8:30am, while at a stop-light (a moment poem, formerly called a flash poem)

a criss-cross pattern
of moving metal and flesh
at acute angles
interwoven through 
green, trees, concrete 
and rails. and bridges 
over the rails.
an open weave
patchwork blanket quilt
of animal, vegetable and mineral
vying--always vying--for 
the light


A thousand things cut 
this city up but leave it 
laid out before us 

on the table. We 
are flayed alive while we strip 
it block by block.  These 

streets are lines on our 
hands.  The continuity 
is gone but it still 

congrues like gruel 
in the bowls of our brains.  We 
can never glue it

back to the way it was when 
wheels shared streets with hooves.