Rafim

David Pettigrew When the City Sings I mold myself to a foldout chair A cold Guinness molds itself to my palm The concrete porch glows with streetlight glare The heartbeat of the city joins me; bass, urban Psalms A warm breeze comes and goes; I can feel the city breathing A pair of tired brakes sigh in the distance The city contemplates with me on clear evenings It seems to echo of the day's remembrance In my young life I've traveled far, seen amazing things But nothing compares to the sirens, when the city sings.

David Pettigrew October 20th what better time than this? when Her towers shed She that bore me as well i choke up we are clearly brothers, you and i vascularity, rotting chlorophyll or budding melanin this irony gnashes my teeth that i celebrate you on cross sections of our brethren's corpse i apologize but oh, these fireworks of Hers, a time for a full pallet hooded sweatshirts and skateboarding it makes me want to grow a beard or drop out of college to avoid a cubicle someday and work with my hands, as you do among you, every day until my Winter comes.