Enduring a City

I’ve got City. Again.
Didn’t even see the eye of its blade
shivving my lungs,
butchering my throat.

City.
Where you sleep with someone else's hand
around your neck.

Where every noise is a needle
to your balloon-head
already bursting
from everyday necessary acts of survival.

Where the showers only wash
away the sweat, but not the time,
where our sofas make us
prostrate and prosaic
so we don’t even care.

I’ve gone walking in the country,
looking for an antidote. Found it hiding
in a field of buttercups; found it peeking
through tree branches viewed from the ground,
green on blue, the only portrait you’ll ever need;
found it running alongside a river
wondering where all the fish went too,
trying to ignore the outlets and the garbage.

Enduring a City

City, you’re too infectious,
even out here.
All this soil
can’t remove your stain.
I’m OD’ing air
because I know you’ll cut the supply.