Misshapen courtyard is amidst
deconstructive sunbeams, corrugating the brick walls,
some students encircle,
their intervals spaced
as dilated pupils. Somber breaths. Wordless cigarette drags.
And passing. And passing.
And swigs of spiked coffee
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.