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poetry


CITY SONG
by
Luke Cumberland

The sunlight spills onto the streets of Washington DC

Where the kill economy is wheeling at 8 am; you are naked

On the bed and Iím drawing you with pencil on a pad above

23rd Street NW. You tell me an interstice is not a line, only

Two forms touching. Skin is a record of failure. Nearby,

Some protestors are shouting and singing beneath a red sky

Framing the edges of buildings with iridescence; they have pictures

On signs that show brokenness—like my little sketch—

Forms touching imperfectly like sky and space, restlessness &

Grief. Look at me she said. Look. I touch her shoulder, she says

My name, I crawl back into bed with her; that was enough.



Luke Cumberland holds a Creative Writing degree from the University of Virginia and an MFA in Writing from Washington University in St. Louis. He has recently been awarded a prize from the Academy of American Poets, and his most recent work can be found on StatusHat.org. He lives in Northern Virginia.



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