city

city’s nothing more than a list of ways to die
a cascading catalog of hazardous circumstances

(between Asian toys, Asian food and Asian drivers,
I may never live to visit Asia)

commuting children bearing cellular sidearms
killing me quick and slick as cancer and speeding cars

throw my slack body before the panicked rush of traffic
avoid exploding swarms of pigeons launched from sewer grates

if I do to survive the sidewalks alive with
disease, filth, and strangers waiting to pick my body bare

I may yet arrive at my job, whole and hearty
and ready to eat my soul for dinner

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