Dear Concrete

There are no preambles to my leaps.

Rather, I indulge in the deep dive down,

The jerk behind my navel even when

Vertigo’s haze engulfs me. No.

I / do / not / care.

Shamelessly do I scream I sing I yelp that

I am coming for yóu, concrete.

Not that I yearn or pine for a

Broken spine or expect that this

Steep decline will always end well.

I am relative to the gray square.

I fall to the baseline

And hope to collide.

By Saskia Soelaksana

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