I’m pretty sure I’ll be the only 
one to understand this precious 
copy 
three dollars on a corner I’ve been 
to before. 

The building and the 
mind 
schematics 
raptors 
and their tactics 

dragged again to this fucking 
dumb 

kamikaze 

silent tip of wings 
lacking undercarriage 

it is a street or has been a 
street 
cobbled typewrite we 
walk with flames at the tips of 
our piss, the spring rolls 
she would not kiss 

this copy I could have lifted 
a trick the woman surely 
knows, her dog curled 
across the desk. Soft cotton with 
teeth, a breathing emblem 
that soils in the gutter 
and she squints there too 
Admirable in a woman 
who sells books as dirt 
caught in a constant wind 
without a flutter 

an unstable business anyhow 
I met a polish girl 
looking for an apartment 
but only within three subway 
stops: left, right, and centre 
I watched her ignore the expensive 
drink 
flipping through the pages, making 
notes, hands of a gardener 
with painted nails the disguise the grime 
crammed behind the clipped shells buffed and filed 

There were eyes that would not 
watch my eyes 
though who could know what 
they were looking for 
Today they wore the sour 
disguise of too many wishes 

Later I rise to some occasion 
finding this book with 
words about the building