I’m cross-legged in yogi position,
On the pavement
The asphalt
The rough concrete imprints on to my leg,
It’s uncomfortable.

Business men tread the thin ice over my face
Cars flatten my rear body
My skeleton’s marrow is pushed out of its comfort zone.

The clock’s left hand melds with mine
Geometrically, it falls by my side,
The pigeon wheezes its last breath…

I’m scooped up by the bonnet
The windscreen shatters,
My legs still bear imprint
Tattooed like a barcode.

The tyre tread
Eats my other leg.

So now I’m drowning in worldly imprints
I’m flattened by worldly tyres
Bulldozed by the globe,
Left with an imprint of America on my backside.

-sneekfeet