the spoken city

in the time it takes
a shard of lightning
to cook a man

in the time it takes
one too many
drops
of water

to send a forehead

reeling
into
truth
or
madness
or
both

in the seconds
a dirty bomb
takes
to festoon the sand
with
so much
scattered
shattered
bone

you can hear
hostile respiration begin
fists and boots
and
falling
thud thud thud
victims
martyrs
heroes

it's like
a playdate with the devil
only
he's locked up all the toys

you'd like to
perspire blood

only to find

the leeches
have fattened
upon it.