classified: help wanted
to spear and dissect what exactly needs to be identified.
we are too many branches extending green tendrils of evolution falsely accused of the intent to overwhelm.
it cannot be helped.
forced to adapt and abandon what is no longer functionally necessary
‘look (t)here is the truth.’
memory has lost its function in the face of fact forced upon us in boxed glass
not unlike the blunted edge of grass holding a pair of frames so a Monet tree would turn its back on the sun and
find curvatures of rhythm dripping from end to end of sacrifice.
the truth is I am fighting the urge always
my eye is a
*note: this is the fourth in a series of six poems written in and about New York.
all photos taken by the amazing Rachelle Tai