Like birds, my hands flew from 7th story
Windows welcoming ills of city air.
Watching the pavement blend with the faces of pedestrians.
Again, tomorrow I’ll open windows
To stumble through a different scent,same scenery.
Phone rings. Mother’s voice slides
The conscience from its compartment.
Hands return blistered with blood same color as my skin.
Correction to these
Flaws carry weight crushing any
Leather seats stick to
Skin and toughen it up for
Frozen steering wheels.