City

I enter the city.
It welcomes me.
It smiles upon me.
It clothes me with vines.

They are lovely, twisted vines
nets of rage, confusion and skin
nets of shiny

Shiny vines hold no water.

The twisty vines have found my heart,
blown my mind.

I am ecucated.
Sophisticated.

I itch to be an icon
to be a paper doll
whose smile is always real
and who never tires of standing

I itch for more vines.

Encrust them with jewels!
Bind them tighter around my heart!
Hunger is not a sin.

Men will climb the vines around my heart.
They will find poison inside.

Confession burns
Repentence frightens

Someone drain the poison
Someone burn the vines,
melt the shiny

I itch.

The itch does not come in seven years
it comes in seven days
in seven minutes
in seven heartbeats.

It comes as the trumpets blast
and the men shout.

I am freed

But if my heart still beats with the city,
Will it fall with the city?