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By series: Bridge St  In Yr Ear  Ruthless Grip

The Tenement

Today, babies gripping me tomorrow,
they all fall through glass.

The rafters mock my footsteps with splinters
"Los Angeles needs our help," says the fire.

The uncle with one glass eye stares--
these are all his children

gripping me. Glass filets my forearm.
Still, the children strip my skin

like leather fly catches that hang
from the ceiling.

Sunflower seeds misconstrue the carpet.
The Macaw is a blood love donor,

perches on a swing set,
his intravenous beak struggles to the salt lick.

Urine falls from the sky.