Seventh Street

I have heard
You can take your cat to
Seventh Street
And those split hairs
That reflect your sins
And those chipped claws
That hunt through your albums
For a laugh as faded as
Your bottle of rose petals
Will drift away.

I have heard
You can take your dog to
Seventh Street
And that frayed collar
Torn by shards of brandied glass
And the dented name tag
That knocks on your door
In search of a smile as splintered as
Your abalone jewelry box
Will join a rope
Braided from sorrow and
Decorated with bronze.

I have heard
You can take your heart to
Seventh Street
And your cracked nail polish
Speaking of shallow dusk
And your saturated scrunchie

Seventh Street

That tries to make a splash
But only burns the eyes like
The acidic tears cupped in your palm
Will paint golden a dozen cages and
Leave your scrunchie sunset red.

If you look in
Your compact mirror to powder your nose
As you walk out the door
You will notice the cages are iron
And the carpet that quiets your heels
Is woven of animal hairs
Silky smooth, glistening
Except when you turn your head.