hostile architecture 

we built a city on bed of needles
& called it home to anyone.
where "anyone" means anyone.
the weeds named themselves after planets 
before turning hay-pale & gone.
comforts in the form of trash cans
& stacks of tires that say "free."
i don't want to be that kind of free.
here, a sip of water is a staircase of glass.
where does a boquet of hands belong?
knocking on your door to ask
if we can take a walk 
becuase it is just so nice outside.
we reach for holly leaves at the park. 
chew the green from our tongues.
fires beneath eyelids & 
a shopping cart full of rain.
all i want is a basket to carry you in.
the city hoards sleep in garbage bags.
sirens spill like bruised peaches
& rot underneath the bridge.
each emergency has less & less
to do with my feet. instead, 
i follow the ice cream truck down
to the other side of park 
where boys take turns 
scooping out pieces of moon 
to chew on. buy myself a street light.
standing beneath & saying,
"this is my shadow & this one & this one."
you can have control over where you keep
& what you call "treasure."
the house is for sale to anyone.
a stray cat is hit by a car
& her ghost walks upside down 
on the eaves of every school building.
at night, even the benches have teeth. 

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