Her mouth flickered, sharp as razors
across the glass window
clouds rolled in in victory.
Snowy rooftops filtered past and
chimneys coughed a stormy blast.
Simple folk dwell within
golden shadows hide their sin.
The panic in the city lights
sweep her eyes at the fringe of night.
Red ribbons run through her pupils,
it’s alright – the moisture on her cheek
doesn’t mean she’s weak.
She feels dizzy in the moving cabin.
The conductor and she are alone,
staring out at the city’s bones.
A dark stream spills snake-wise over the streets’ hissing hot
The noon light reflects optical illusions,
like piano key towers,
and tall men with powers.
Most of the smokestacks
protrude from their and the city’s mouth
streaming with a harmony
hollowed of energy.
That dark stream sweeps the feet clean
and the men run faster
staring down at the hissing pavement
looking up at the black and white glass.
The noon light transfigures their image;
city and men.
They are shorter by dusk
and gone in the dark stream of night.