1.3.13

The Transfiguration






There are those that spin a bowl out of the concrete streets
         Pull and tease the city limits, use what they find 
The parkour artist throws his body into brick
         Gothic, I see you, I fit inside you
         I work with the shining glass
         scale the fire exit like a sliding fish,
         rejoicing 
         I speak your phrases, I tangle your nuance 
         mannerism 
         I sense when you slam your door, wordless
              but you forgive when I vault the air conditioning unit 
              and sink my solid feet into gravel 
         I feel you perk and spread, arch your back and push
         I respond to your movement
              I worship your nooks, your neglected places
              I glaze your grey space red







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