Pucker up,
Bite your lip, bitch;
You’ve got 13 lonely storeys,
Wind rushing through your hair
You’re homebound towards the ground.

City-clatter
Tunnel vision
Reduced to a sound

a Thud

a Smack 

Splatter 

Crack 

All your years of living
Piled up
In a messy little mound. .

 

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