Chad Sweeney
from An Architecture
My solitude
shaped like a city
distinct
from your solitude
shaped like a city.
A mobile
hung in bones—embalmed in whiskey and the hope
of danger—youflow across with the crowd
at the urge of a flashing
hand—today
while the cherry the young
tree wears a stormof blossom
beside the bulldozer and
wires.
