No more planes
But swinging cranes
And the queerest sight – five fridges float on foam;
What in the hell did I tune into?
Not since the second fall
Were my skies so clear of buzzing airbuses!
But in their stead the occasion of their absence: this torrential tempest.
Our complexions more inconvenient dislocation than perfect gallows.
Wind gusting blows on steel
Has shown its Old English bent:
Or is it German? Hanging the arm over the city,
Ready to drop and whistle and wound.
What are these row-less rowers on the adhoc surf
If not intelligent, master-less cattle?
How different the container from the content from the consumer,
And the consumer from his consummation!
The pseudo-silent rubber depression urges pixels in and out,
Incidental electric light envelops me in the hard womb, protected from the storm.
But when my lights' power is extinguished in the walls,
I think of that old woman, walking her enormous dog in this maelstrom.