Photgraph of Budapest

This city is a brittle leaf
Dry skin peels
from buildings,
carcasses of age,
bullet sprayed.
Metal cages clasp
construction sites
that swell the sky.
Streets are missing
teeth, cleanly dug
gaps of earth.
Statues roam
past parliament,
grazing
marble buffallo.

Cyclones tear
our throats out
beneath the pavement,
steel inspectors
pierce my face,
the beggars
dormitories expand
through the subways,
bare mattresses,
fruit box bedside
tables, couples
wrapped
in reading.

I tie parcel tags
to trees, label them as
Turcsi Orr,
Levél Bomba,
Diótöro
I glue wooden
picture frames
to broken windows
and call it
No Sugar,
Leftovers,
Ocean.

Look.