the sawtooth and the faucet

the city smells like wet lilac and burning chocolate
the side of the road is littered with seeds that will never take
I wonder how many puddles before the suede will give to unsightliness

there is a hydrant in the middle of the field
the groundsoil is toxic
it will be my totem

 when the stairs are ramped
and the clocktowers have gone digital
we will all be playing soccer on your golfcourses