bottlecap street


Bottlecap streets are the scarred scales of city skin

Crinkling to the curbs,

Torn, tarred garments

Unwashed in rain, unpressed in steam,

Stuttering, striped and swept.

Scattered sequins are not sleek.

In my mental jail

Scalpel keys jitter.

Tattered eyelids flinching

My fingers bar my room.

No breathing. No control.


Unlatch rattling locks.

Whitewash our aging here, the shifting waits.

Peel away the vinyl. Scrub the chrome.

Bring a rainbow through that door, there,

With clutched knob of anxiety.

Reception room ruins.

Carter B. Horsley

Next Poem: Stain

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