As Though From an Elevator

By: - Dec 20, 2014

Minding the sudden light, I stop 
For them— the wild men, their hair wild,
Faces grizzled, grey, and their flags flying, 
The women, dolls on board, dour. 
They ride past, wheeling on Main 
In ramps of extravagant flight. All smoke.
The red light changes, I cross 
In the vapid dusk
Of a dying city, 
When life screams past, or to a halt,
Like a loose motorcycle 
Brought up short, 
And rages.
I look down, from the top 
Of my prospects,
So to speak—
As though from an elevator                 
That I take 
To the top
Past the lesser stations,       
Each hawking something brazen, creepy, coy—
I aim above the rest.


The cage rises like a bad meal
Had with terrible company
Where no one listens.
A huge mistake lies 
Somewhere in the dark 1st floor 
Of self. Among the fundamentals. 
It hugs the dark, and glistens. 
But I have reached 
My high look-out, and perch 
Above the lamp-lit city’s acute valley.
The lone headlight makes the hairpin,
Its flare glints and scours the black hills. 
I watch it cut off, its descent.
I ride the dark ice for thrills.