Tuesday, July 5, 2011


Misshapen courtyard is amidst
deconstructive sunbeams, corrugating the brick walls,

some students encircle,
their intervals spaced


as dilated pupils. Somber breaths. Wordless cigarette drags.

Thinned youth,
sloth-pace passing

And passing. And passing.
And swigs of spiked coffee

not vitalize.

Persons straggle,
still. The Underground diggings
not so convenient.

The substitute --crackling thru earphones-- is the hyperreal glitz:
an auto-tuned youth. A kid home from boot camp

scrounges thru his pockets as a taxi huffs.

Departing, dust across the road puffs up in wispy silk flows.
That kinetic vibe of an idle field

once the revelry clears. My city feels rented.

--Steven Leonardo Clifford was born in 1984, and lives in New York. He’s diagnosed with Schizoaffective Disorder, and he remedies his mental illness by writing poetry and fiction.

No comments: