i light a quick cig & have a seat while the rain slowly sets in. a woman begins citing the new words of her god,
the new sunken scripture:
“it’s a new age on planet earth!” before pacing her step & clapping her hands “it’s the eighth day! june tenth, twenty-sixteen. june tenth, twenty-sixteen. i grew up in…”
then she vanishes.
i make a quick stub as i go, bellowing across the street, into the underpass of the city sewers:
the track is merging together as the rain picks up & the conductor yells and mimics a parrot with a foul mouth & odorous breath. the mechanical heart of this city keeps beating
with belts & tires & raging neon light
the slumps of expository science
the dumps of gutterbugs & termites
the slumps of a land/broken with defiance
& a slummy window-clean & bearded compositor breaking into fights
all clash on the street like nickels & dimes
the laundromat is closed & i’d better get home. to the backyard. to the bonfire & medicine.
men live as fireflies. flickering against the glass, until they drop. i heard you like to play with matches. that, that you like the way they light.
the way they burn.
i heard you like to play with razors & switches against the wall.
i know it’s getting late, but if it’s all the same
i can’t wait for the eternal summer to kick in &
watch the world catch flame