Heaven Leigh Art, Poem By ~ Jeremiah Walton

by Horror Sleaze Trash on January 27, 2014



I am a city.

Streets are not my body,
but my skin.

I wear the piss of streets
and honks of angry machines,
bridges dirty undersides
homing the homeless
and the skyscrapers scared
I’ll burn a whole in their chest
as big as the one in my pocket.

I am the ponder between a footstep,
the last Last Caller, between drinks.

I am cries of New Borns,
and creaks of caskets. I am the quietest poem
and the loudest. I am Manchester

I am Boston
I am Buffalo
I am Erie
I am this poem.

I am the poems Gregory stole
from the tongues of Old Poet Men.
I am the tongues of Old Poet Men.
I am brothels

and downtown shootings.
I am hospitals
and all their needles.

I am a city.

I am the Nun
rubbing a crucifix over her body
for forgiveness of last night.

I am streets yet to be constructed,
and those yet to crumble.

I am not duality. I am not innovation.

I am the alleys between humans
marrying us in roman fashion.


Not at all. I am none of those riduclous
mouth-words trying to be artist’s brush strokes.

I am not a city.
I am not a metaphor.

I am not special. I am

I am Nature, indifferent
and meaningless.

You are not a city. You are not a metaphor.

You are not special. You are

You are Nature, indifferent

and meaningless.

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