Poem: Intersection

 

Rainy Intersection

 

beads on phone wires slide fat to drip,

numb as the drool of an infant,

bald deformed pliant dome.

it stares down with mock horror

at the slanted trajectories:

 

how they end in hot water, empty as run off,

a fizzle on a char of roads.

tires slice through with the polite manners

of dutiful butchers. 

 

commuters,

those metal-cloaked lip-biters,

come and go, roll and smoke, chug,

sit at attention, roll and come to go, peel-out, honk,

jerk, chug, screech, cuss, stress

to come and roll and stop to go and roll to stop and go to come,

roll stoplights, lines, math, laws (something's coercive here!),

this organized but not-so-cooperative nor friendly mathematics,

such as it is, this come-stop purgatory

for each and every flesh-nucleus.

this watering hole of the city’s motion sickness.

this glut of selfish pop music drama/mine.

what would a last prayer look like,

splayed open on these never-ending slabs,

vivisected by streetlamps, cleansed by polluted rain,

picked over by claws of wrecked tin

under the starless Shadow?

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