sometimes when the traffic weakens

you feel you could have the run of the city

in memorium. when there were

no capitalisations, only silent confetti

and these light needles

back through these shut blinds

seam all the day mine.

safe in this little cell, out a way

from dark tourisms smaller and smaller ghosts.

sometimes a greater fear rips an emptiness

where everyone runs so petty.

with spears and one conch shell,

smashing ugly, pulsing lightbulbs

upon the streets like fish of jelly.