That Skyscraper Photo

You can’t see from here but

down at street level there are

men with carts selling who-

knows-whatever you want.

They’ve got it in regular and

lite (unleaded if you know the

secret handshake.) And through-

out the back-alleys where the

yellow cat-eyes of the buildings

cannot reach through the smog

are your junkies and rapists and

whores, dancing in the reflection

of those great glass monoliths,

just itching for a piece of that

American pie denied to most,

envied by all, and disdained

for its inadequacy the moment

anyone takes out a healthy bite.

The apples are mealy and wormy

and brown, and the crust doesn’t

flake, it just sogs limp and down.

Below all that the tin is burnt through

by the rust and the heat of this

bubbling melting pot where

the dross has nowhere to go

but up and the rest are left

wanting, gazing up above

with breakneck wonder

at these economic juggernauts;

these idolic, idle behemoths.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s