söder boy

the trees are singing and
the sidewalks are crying.
i can hold the daylight in
my hand if it holds still,
but only because i left my
memory overseas.

how many times has she
told you the sunlight is
too bright? what bridge
did you sleep under, söder
boy?

what kitchen let you keep
this day? can you hear
the pace of that thing
we’ve been keeping
refuge from? how many
times has she told you
the sunlight is too bright?

the perfume is slipping
off your
collarbone
from up there.
i am tired of black leather
and chemical dishonesty,

as these shadows are
letting you forget. what bridge
did you sleep under, söder
boy?

what lie let you leave?

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