E. 93rd Street Violine Violence
Nanette Rayman Rivera

If in project’s strobe light bottles had been cut
kidskin dripping with litigious moons
my whole incoherent heart serrated from delight
Doors soaped, a life speckled
when in this case of straddle and various,
in this hour of violine purple, the dahlia withdrew
as if I saw the perfect fifth splay and duck
in the draft and foul
flogging of my own will before pistil and dawn
I stand where the heated corollas fell
delicate as angioplasties O O, tiny monochrome boats—
Where you once said the dahlia stands for a ticket
I see de-livered candles and balloons negotiating
near enough to this diminutive capture
My moderate boats now cycling the streets
until what slants overhauls me.

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