So the sky wounded you, jagged at the heart,
glass shard flying from liquor store window
smashed.
They had warned you, blue
means danger. The kid runs off
5 zigzagging the crowd, clutching his prize of
Scotch;
the liquor man yells. Those Grecian dreams
endure even New York. You think
you're safe, hum-drumming along
the sidewalk's common, readable gray,
10 calmly digesting your hunk of daily bread,
with flesh enough on your bones to cast some
shade,
but puddle flashes, car window glints,
a stranger casts you a glance from a previous life:
the sky! And there you stand
15 unclouded, un-named, as naked as
the chosen Aztec facing the last shebang—
( his last shebang; the globe keeps rolling along
slipslop in its tide of blood)—
So there you stand
20 holding your sky-stabbed heart in your hands
to offer—to whom?—
while the liquor man curses the daylights
out...