Urban planning when prayers for the body aren’t enough


i am walking out                        of footprints
body left behind in crystals, i am
walking here next to rusted wires, a fester left behind

where you once built a city
of bodies on Sundays, structures:                            lilies,
                                             lawns:                                      palmpressed & praying

there, we spun whistles into anthems
              & peeled off scabs                    to watch the clots pearl

& what’s the point of bridges anyway,
                              hovering over nothing
                                                                                                  more than their marrow
                                                  over this rucksack of riches,

                              pearls unspooled & pooling
& this city crystal underfoot

                                    on days like this,
it’s nice to remember how it feels
                                                                                                  away from the sentence filled like a city