Crawling dogs over box cutter edges
walking over stagnant sewage
supposedly a natural stream,
if only this was a dream

Overhead November skies
grace the late April landscape
numerous trucks and cars battle by
expelling blue vapid exhaust
coating pinkish lungs
grazing the skin
with numerous carcinogens
too long to pronounce
too complicated to fathom
too literal to care

Climbing upward on winding roads
that cling to the fringes
of  rural civilization
past broken tree limbs
downed in frozen March winds
chaos born from freak ice storms
that alternate angry drops of rain
with the staccato snap of hail
crashing into windows
drumming aluminum cans
chipping varnished paint jobs
on the hoods and trunks of cars,
waiting in dormant stasis
to be fired up again
charging into the fray,
but never really going anywhere

Secret messages written in dashes,
yellow dots and lines
that weave between the traffic
while above the heavens
cables strewn like spiderwebs
holding electronic eyes
recording impatience
stopping chaos and disorder
halting humanity
growling with inertia
waiting for red to transform to green
from faceless rage to passivity

Broken iron fences, discarded bottles
crushed cans, empty chip bags
black, greasy Starlings grappling
hoarding tidbits of forgotten morsels
discarded from green environmentalists
so many causes, color blind effects

Waiting for confrontation
he said, she said,
misconstrued gibberish
to the top of the world
facing tombstones,
abandoned structures,
stylish crypts,
with forked, wrought iron fences
and padlocked doors
Ironic to keep people out,
as memories just fade away

The hidden are forgotten
as the dust accumulates
and rain water seeps through
granite and mortar
salty stains on festive colored glass,
slightly acidic and corrosive
breaking down, silently dismissing
all deemed holy
before the last world war,
so many years ago

mathiasthom
written 4/28/11