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.







Previous

IRENE CĂSAR
Confined Verse
Collected Poems

Next