steampunk scraper

plaster cobblestone

street

 

invading tenants

 

the homeless

meander like

creeks;

 

rusting rivets leak

like a sieve into

 

the scraper’s water

supply,

 

black and white

brain memories

like

 

a

bad newspaper headline…

 

flatfoots on the take,

they seem like a theater with unseen

marionetters

 

crouched behind tin trashcans…

 

scraper top shadows casted

on passing dirigibles

 

spyglasses look through

broken panes of glass,

 

riders of the clouds

contemplate their

own absence;

 

inhabitants pull down

plastic shades,

plastic memories.

 

but,

 

hold onto a thousand

imaginations,

 

in a sweaty palm, one,

 

a tattered bus ticket

out…

 

sound and smell of an

old bus

 

pulls up,

 

hugs the curve

 

like a Jesuit priest

hugs a

 

collection plate.

 

tenants stand in

‘out−of−order’

elevators,

 

free fall like rain

on a Coney Island

 

arcade roof;

 

pour out onto

a desolate

street corner,

 

bus door half

opens,

 

potential passengers

wear the life name

tag given

 

at birth…

 

bus exits,

windows

down,

 

numb to the stench…

 

Copyright © 05/10/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

Image

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