Clearance

You are still bringing in that
terrible wind with you

the clatter of public engineering
and people moving

I told you the tunnel glowed
A ripped sun rising from west 4th

Like it's some Ireland

Move those padded feet
your bone-tight back like a hospice
withers in the terrible wind
your market, your
little Neva

but remember
like Nietzsche
there is no clearance
in the niche