the city holds copper fingers against the hollows of your
bones, chisels shadows to breath. remember, you are
thinking of personhood; you are wondering about falling,
about pressing against smoke-spilt air, about this roof and

the sky dusk-shallow against a riverbed and whether the
impact will bare the ghost-white of your bones. remember,
you should stop. remember, this was never something good.

the city tastes like fog and disappearance, tipped against
your closed mouth. listen, the winter ravages you, the flute
of your femur between its wolf-teeth, and the city is liquid
light beneath you. remember, you want to let go.