8 pm
charcoal skies overshadow
sidewalks sonorous with the sound of beating hearts

a big top of patchwork blankets
red-hot tears on a broken windowpane
chills like knives, drawing blood

skin
dust jackets and trenchcoats
puppet strings tied to our fingertips
put on a show

lips sewn shut
we let thunder do the talking

—m.h.

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