i am not courageous
no
i am contagious
just with symptoms
that don’t affect
the normal effects
of living
in a monochrome daydream
of the american scream

the worn carpet
beneath my bare feet
with black
painted nails
feels like
the threadbare soul
of hope
stretched down
along commerce street
around where
kennedy got shot

the birds flock
to sit
on the power lines
the dirt
of the city
seems to paint itself
across the tired eyes
of the people
stuck in metal boxes
on asphalt veins
trying to get anywhere
but where they are

there is no courage
in walking barefoot
across
the living room floor
there is only contagions
singing on the breeze
of the over taxed
air conditioner
humming in the window
as the creatures journey
on on on
to their certain death

tipping back
another empty bottle
of red wine
gone to vinegar
hoping for one last drop
to drip
onto a too dry tongue
to cast away
the fever
of heated moments
of passion
in between long stretches
of hellish boredom