poemboundary conditionsin from Race street West, the streetlights are dark and, like never before, odd house-shapes are thrown up, silhouettes against the pale vaulted cloud ceiling along Indiana and Michigan I notice for the first time tree limbs held together with thick shadowy chains, like drawbridges still bare a confetti of fingertip-sized flowers litters the sidewalk house lights knife the half-darkness like scalpels flicked on by motion sensors there is a constellation named after a fox dad told me tonight he broke two metatarsals I dreamed of a huge apartment building again but the vast loft didn't meet your requirements obitscinnamon. cat. 17, cancer.edward gorey. poet, illustrator. 75, heart attack
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