You are the whole building on fire.
the voice of sirens. You are
the dumb crowd milling, the capture
of Weegee’s lens. You are flames
licking up the escape. You're the hovering
of a mother at the cliff of her
You are the choice to drop her baby.
You're the chance of a beckoning crowd,
six hands gripping a sooty raincoat.
are the only option. You're a simple drop.
Ten stories below they pray you're
like a cloud,
soft floating. You are like a cloud. Grey
and you don't hold anything.
that moment before a falling, the falling,
a whir of falling, wail of falling,
thud. You are black blood flaring
across the concrete. You are a needle
to the groove of a very sad song.
The whole building burns with you.
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