For Yannis Ritsos
Because the watcher wrote red on the shop’s wall,
because the half-candle was stolen & sold
because the innocent got hit with a cold,
because the town is divided by a line of blood
in the sand,
because the drug you bought was dropped
in the ditch,
because the sky is burnished with orange
not unlike a lockman’s smile,
because this rusty box houses a severed finger
from an unknown hand,
because the woman you saw walking in the market
carried a purse made of flies,
because the dead haunt your days with fish-scale
chains rattling on the road
for this, only for this reason I lied to you.
Featured image: Underground Larakin by Darkdays photographer at flickr. CC license.
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