To The Sky


A plane flies
through the striation of wires
keeping my train –
it never crosses,
though the cables snake
and knot
the blue from the sky.

London opens its throat
it booms and roars
and whines and moans;
London howls to the sky
and I answer
an open heart
matching its ebbing,
endless cry.

A million fragments
of a trillion thoughts
scattered to the wind,
brought to heel
kept in mind
and thought again.

In the sky drifts
lazily a child’s balloon
massive in steel,
hanging from thunder.
I lean my head
on the train’s smooth wall
and hear
whispered obscenities,
prayers to a vulture god.

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