By CJ Sommerfeld, Staff Writer
in our own city
we know all the hidden alleys
and which are gritty
chipped bricks soaked in piss
and recognize the wise man’s graffiti
apart from an international art school graduate’s
committee
commissioned to ornament
the concrete factory’s exteriority
yards and vacant lots that belong to
no one
(we can take short-cuts through these)
a free-for-all rosemary bush in front
grab a bunch
grab a ton don’t touch
they’re doused in urine
we can reiterate what the masses of modernity
contemporaneity
chunks
were before
those who gentrify
decided what we need
heedless conjectures inattentive eye
we wouldn’t dare defy
we knew which poles didn’t come out of the ground
it was only these we locked our bikes to
are bikes too profound?
choose one unsound
we knew which fields got afternoon sun
where to lay and get undone
eat brunch
listen to grunge ideas rotund
goose shit stained the blanket’s front
we knew the location
of the cheapest liquor store
route most convenient and its hours
it’s ours
in our own city we thought we knew
how to read its cues
how to subdue
those who eyed what we created
delude
discernments askew
