ASH

1.Ode 

The cigarette ash on the rust of my fire escape,

looks as if flies were crumbling.

While my inhale makes my exhale burnt sienna.

Knees crouched into chin, taut, goosebumped skin

smelling of smoke and leather like papa.

Of cubicle Marlboro packs in the back of his pocket.

The tick-tack of my palm slapping that packet, ass on bare asphalt,

my teeth on dry paper, with tongue slithering filter. 

My words slinkier than a noose

of tar winding, begging for an excuse, waiting for the next pull.

Sometimes this makes me insecure.

But when ash contacts with filaments in my blood, I can feel my jaw bones rise to salvation.

2. Palinode 

My brother, a relic of Babylon.

Whose black clothes leaked grey, as Twin Kingdoms hugged hoards of screeching silhouettes

breathing blank sheets of Kinko paper, memos left.

Tumbling Woman, Tumbling Man, Thuds of Sand.

My brother, please stop rewinding those fingers clutching collars of white shirts, whipping them through the windows to slap God in the face.

And please stop watching CNN, that ribbon on the bottom seems infinitely long.

And I know, I know Manhattan was crying under your toes, tolls on the journey home.

And Manhattan, she told you to walk, you made it 200 some blocks.

Your slate body reeking of gasoline incinerating bone.

I just want to shower, you said. Wash away the ash on my tongue.