If I keep my doors open –
propped with a shoe or block –
everything pours in
A city licked, hot rage,
a pit of immolation, a mess of
humanity tempted to leap,
grieving for lost secrets,
trinkets, old diaries, ardencies,
hot notes of love and pain
to fend off the evil eye, the rage
of a tyrant who wields his baby rattle
like a gavel, his inner
chambers nonexistent, his fire
and wind toxic.