work in progress

[more work in progress, not as fun as last time's:]

Dawn, New & Improved

Turn the sun rising into
a new genre, dubbed for want
of better words solar apotheosis.
Slug down the coin slot,
night down for blurred metal
racket, cat calling for her
husbands. Reach across her back
for the door lock, gear box
frozen and matted. As authoritative
as he may appear, suddenly
the sky cracks with motion –
women and men running, backpacks
purses briefcases scattered heedless before
the sun of a new
trademark. Logos as logo, descending
dove whose feathered breast touches
your lips for one aching
moment before the darkness falls
and endless credits scroll. I
am in a box somewhere,
beyond the rumblings and gurglings
of the tongueless dialectic, flicking
a lighter to make out
the cramped curves of my
own limbs, sapless. Someone planned
it all, brought us to
this sorry pass. Waves pink
far as the eye sees
under the tumid, bristling
orb – and a blanket crusted
with sand, rimed with salt.
You are in a box
somewhere, as Spirit unfolds itself
in the patter of dirt
and the thud of clods
drizzling down over your head.