Neruda knew the Just Is
how it hangs
between clavicles and vowels
and illuminates the half cut city skyline
how it howls
and caws
how it sits
on a dead poets hill
and looks out
like a sentry
or an angel made of bricks
canals like slit
veins bleed
through the buildings
the tallest i
I've ever seen
blooming buds the shape of
satellite dishes
wishes
of a new age where the page
is a punch card and a key fob
