This second piece is a small section
of a larger poem called "A Book of The Robin and The Bird"
or "Chick Embryo Development."
And yes, there are times when poets begin
to document their own lives.
Fiction meets non-fiction.
And this is a little bit of that for me.
This is the second section called "Primitive Streak."
Here her head and backbone develop.
On pavement, chain link everything.
Whistles and finite ticks of the second hand
between arithmetic and square pizza.
Where letters form sharp piercing tools.
Knuckles bleed and the lips that speak dirty spic bloat
in purple hues.
Someone added play to this ground.
Idyllic and perhaps a bit ignorant, the absence
resonates in the throats roaring and seen.
Yes, she finds herself seen.
Burning match among the dormant book.
Face both darker and ablaze.
The squint of his eyes.
More words.
She in swell then her boot between his legs.
Fists and fists to cheekbones.
And more fists.
The circle engulfs her.
Somewhere in the blur, in distance, a bell rings.