Saturday, September 19, 2015
Sunday, September 13, 2015
Friday, September 11, 2015
FALLING DOWN
 |
| In their memory... |
New York City is falling down
as I rise from my bed
like a stubborn corpse
While people are burned
and buried alive
here I make stiff fingers move
shuffle my numb feet
toward life
Mad planes seek easy targets
in the sky Here I put on my
hat, let the elevator
drop me down
to the basement
below Maybe a miracle
will come in the mail
one day soon
The Disability checks
won't stop
I won't lose the subsidized
roof over my head
untold loaves of
bread will appear in the
empty cupboard like magic
And good blood will
flow through my sick
veins once again
Thank you
America
The Twin Towers fall
and some 3,000
souls are gone
Here I abandon my bed
sip weak coffee
and squint at the
12 inch screen
In New York City
a homeless man has
hung an American flag
across the side of his
cart But I only see
hunger and early
coffins here Red is the
color of blood, ashes
are white, bruises are
blue Now a barefoot girl
has wrapped a flag
around herself like a
shroud Her face is a
mask of ash, her dark
eyes are ringed with
blood, blue bruises
disfigure her feet
She is an American
saint on display
A letter in the mailbox
is a dangerous
thing now, but
I am already falling, falling
Since bombs or germs
won't make my world
worse: I open my mail
never think to wash my
hands, check the empty
cupboard one more time,
and wait for my world
to explode
Poem © 2009 by Dylan Mitchell
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