Where am I?
Undressing newspapers
pages flying
a multitude of paper planes
Hearing a strange
but familiar whistle
I follow it downtown
cold
coatless
corpses
coughing
daughters of death
stretching and yawning
I’d be happy just to drink
my supper alone
lanterns going off
and being lit
meanwhile the mountain knows
we turn to pie crust when we leave
but we take what we need
we leave what we need
All of my favorite poets
are dead or dying
I am
stepping
sleepily into
a city of death
street steps
glazed by dew
Where am I?