somewhere right now, at
ten minutes, forty-one seconds past noon
a child has
stumbled over a protruding stone
turning their honeysuckle
right cheek into a
marbled crimson
landscape
somewhere
somewhere right now, at
twelve minutes, fifty-four seconds past noon
two lovers are entwined
in a shaded room lit only with
bamboo sunlight passing through
the dusty silhouettes of circa nineteen eighty-two blinds
falling slowly on the
natural curves of the small of their backs
as their ribcages are interlocked
and their eight-oh-eight heartbeats
syncopate a rhythm that
no
bar lines could ever hold
somewhere,
somewhere right now, at
sixteen minutes, eleven seconds past noon
an aged homeless man is curled up in
the crevices of a
frozen
harlem sidewalk, gazing down into the cracks
as if to chance upon a hidden
pot of steaming coals
beneath the heartless city
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