John Gosslee, “Green Belt

Green Belt

John Gosslee

My ideas of god come from being in the womb, hearing my parents talk through the ether.

People are the morning and the city breathes in the blood.

The gunshot in the neighbor’s house stops the tongue in the middle of the prayer and the temptation to jump into the river from the bridge as the water rushes by, to arrive someplace else, illuminates the nude vein.

The streets shrink from the propaganda based on currency at 3AM and there’s a freedom in the closed storefronts.

The ground and sky exist without logic, a table of contents.

I don’t know what to say, the workman peeled the plastic transfer back and the store lettering stays on the glass, coins drop into the cup, the auction house puts the bottles on the block, I build the world out of my back.