Poetry: White Walls by Ariel Riveros

Here I haven't written
because I scratch
Not familiar
With alcohol's belly

And local fine credit
Even among the finest
of those who wander
my side of the wall.

Im soaked through
with antiseptic
for years, for
the forces in
the depths

For the street act
posing closeness
with dirt and the machines.
For the honoured crowd
see a seldom walker
Dried to crust with
Mediterranean wash

We see symmetry.
The hiccups hurled
must become sweet.

I'm sponged in
disinfectant -
a milquetoast in the
plots and squareyards
of monolith national neurosis.

This towering wall
isnt sacred. Not
the intent, grease
and investment.

You can walk through
losing lives
like lava peels that
every door leads to.

In can tomb.