POEM OF THE DAY
July 23
Nothing but the bones of urban living
erected on the graves of the razed
low buildings of our past.I don’t recognize
anything.
Outside one of the last
old structures standing, a man plays slide
guitar.A blues for what’s lost.Is this still
my home?
Nothing but the bones of urban living
erected on the graves of the razed
low buildings of our past.I don’t recognize
anything.
Outside one of the last
old structures standing, a man plays slide
guitar.A blues for what’s lost.Is this still
my home?