and suck my blood,
I grasp the railing and look up,
letting my tiny heart take in the time.
in this post-February march towards
something new, and something red,
I read the horizon like a mangled old
newspaper whose dates remember me more.
bloody thumbs and unibrow hairs
are the things I am leaving with,
aside from a few gracias
and maybe some empty threats.
an airplane roars and soars overhead,
and I will be on one similar soon,
looking down at the gone earth,
thinking that I am small because I am.