If you’re too green

For a place,

Everyone can feel it.

As sure as self is

Close to the entrance

A walled chasm

Of separation


Streets collide

At a juncture

Meet at your feet,

Head over heels

This raggedy doll


Catapulted in time.

This urban martyrdom

Of female patronesses

Planted in crevices

Of concrete and steel,

There’s something


That does not want a body,

Watches us pass by.

Make sense of this

In life’s puzzle

Of shards configuring

The stillness remains

Mourns only

The lonely grids of time.