Elemental


The evening, raw.
Tender from the bruise of the day,
Reflected in the yellow and violet sky-wall,
Painted for this day's fragile end.
Sky soldiers, strays, still marching,
Charcoal centurions, ragged, spent.
Light still flashing between them as they grumble,
Sliding away, their payloads delivered
Ignorant of their kills, their victims anonymous.

Money, machines, and blood, mingling,
meshing with the gutter, and the torrents of water left behind.
Nature's mop, sopping with fears.
Swabbing and rinsing the broken dream tears,
Running, gushing, hissing,
Like street static between stations.
Nothing on the air at this Last Chance Texaco.
Rivers of refuse, flotsam, debris conversations,
Just a broken bone-white crescent moon,
Gawping at the life flushed away.