THE LUNG

Aleatory day
breaking open
in flashbulb blur
over the hush
and din one moment
jaggedly ushers out-in
with its collapsing magic fold
Brooklyn is like a lung
we fill with our petty noise
our thuggish orange pockets of noise
which rush each jellyfish pulse
of the great grey lung
as it silently huffs
the trees like cilia
the sun only
another commodious orb
for sale
or what
would it mean
to buy light?
Would it mean dice
don’t tell the future?
The signals are all splintering
here at the breath hole
where air vacuums in-out again
and the pigeons fear being breached
I told a stupid lie
about your stupid ugly face
how it dazzled me
in waves of ignorance
wholly my own
skin color waves
how impossible
it seemed
to understand merely
a single face
your stupid ugly face
that the pigeons know
better than I ever will
buckling at each windy cheek
as it heeds the propinquity
of Brooklyn’s bag-like lung-bellow
under the urban sun’s golden shrug