Day 60 of 100 Poems/100 Days


Monday morning, Amsterdam asleep,
Amsterdam dreams,

I step to its water,
throw myself into its river,
down to the black basin.

Underneath, I sink,
but somehow I can smell
rope, tightening,
the rope knots burning,

The cord rubs against my neck,
as a weight pulls at my ribs.

I must follow its gravity,
my breath the counter,
and head the pivot.

Above me, Amsterdam trembles,
Amsterdam breathes.

I listen to it,
on my last breath,
on my last kick, as I try to escape.


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