sliced flightless swapped skyline

a swabbing tongue of

cheap vinyl spilling foam

newborn neon faded

she aches like a new mouth

her ears crack old teeth

sky blue shreds of once red crescent

flag over the open room dust

still falls and sprawls on sills

sidewalk ferns howl loud in the cold

(fiddles sprung in splits of city)

(grown even in ices white and divisive)

Arianne True is our Poet in Residence for March.

Previously: "Nautilus", and "studies in negative space", and "apology"