by Philip F. Clark

These are the hours & those

the discarded papers.

This is the park & that the elm
from which we swung. This is a photograph

with its smeared halo. This is your stubble,
this your chewed nail.

These are the tongues of flowers–
mispronounced words

for defeat. This is your deleted chapter.
Those are the trains with embered numbers

& this is the subway wind.
Yes, this is the tunnel

& its vanishing point
no one ever reaches.

Dean Kostos — from his extraordinary new collection of poems, “This Is Not A Skyscraper.” Poems about New York City that completely unravel and unearth this city’s beautiful and mysterious, surreal skin.


See more of his work and poetry here: