This hollow

is an assembly of bones,
connected by scars

crisscrossing each other
into streets and alleys.

Their corners are named
by overlapping memories

of things ancient, or as
recent as the way you turn

your face away from me,
to capture the geometry

of another face, or perhaps
an earlier version of me

now dispersed in countless
dimensions of arrogance

and nonchalance that once
gave my bone-marrows

their fill of blood, even heart.
The wires above us

are reminders of how dark
and chaotic the city we knew

used to be, until currents
found their spark in touch

that switched our nights
into a sky glimmering

with punctuations that mute us
like strangers in the dark.

Michael Caylo-Baradi lives in California. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Blue Fifth Review, Blue Print Review, The Common, Eclectica, Eunoia Review, FORTH, Galatea Resurrects, Ink Sweat & Tears, Local Nomad, MiPOesias, Otoliths, Our Own Voice, poeticdiversity, Philippines Free Press, Poetry Pacific, Prick of the Spindle, and elsewhere. He has written reviews for New Pages and The Latin American Review of Books, and is an alumnus of The Writers’ Institute at The Graduate Center (CUNY).

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