As the Day Comes Apart in my Hands by William Taylor Jr.

Another day beneath the phony sun
and the fear of it with me like a shadow,
the soft beauty of things buried deep
beneath concrete and me
without the strength to dig.
That thing I used to dream
I’ve misplaced or given
away, left it forgotten on the pillow
of some stranger’s bed,
dropped it in the outstretched hand
of an angry beggar
who threw it down a sewer
because all he wanted
was a beer.
Every now and then I see it
on television screens or in storefronts,
stripped and broken down,
rebuilt into some refurbished sadness
they try and sell to those
wretched souls who don’t know any better.
And today, when I stepped out into it all
I swear to you I had some
kind of purpose,
but got distracted by a woman’s dress
or maybe the eyes of some animal,
and now I’m just wandering the streets
with my Roy Orbison heart
turned  to eleven and bleeding out,
all the faces pleading or turning away
as the day comes apart in my hands.

william-taylor-jnr
William Taylor Jr. lives and writes in the Tenderloin neighborhood of San Francisco. His work has been published widely in journals across the globe, including The New York Quarterly, The Chiron Review, and Catamaran Literary Reader. He is the author of numerous books of poetry, and a collection of short fiction. He is a Pushcart Prize nominee and was a recipient of the 2013 Kathy Acker Award. To Break the Heart of the Sun is his latest collection of poetry.
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