Lines




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.