30 New York I got a scarf, I got a scar on forty-second. I lost my gloves, I lost my hands on thirty-fourth. This city mapped its bloody streets in my blood vessels. I carry now its mutant body in my own. This city hides my secret code of your phone number, A thrombus of your house in arteries of mine. I lost my hands, I got a scarf when I had dialed, Because without this wound, I couldn't get inside. This city has your face, and it has my blood vessels. It dials for me your seven-digit pulse of blood. Its handless body has my skin stretched on your staircase. Its footless body has your crossroad of my scar.


Confined Verse
Collected Poems