Difficult to make what of the lone walker
down on a side street, over there, ducking
away from the traffic, just past the library.
Hopefully not just a piece of meat for the
mechanical larvae exhausting in a crawl
from the smokestacks, but probably is.
For contrast, maybe he’ll first make it to a field,
or a tidy park that's planted with flowers in open
summer, really, any place dangerously dense
with the diffused creation of comprehensiveness,
dynamic proportions that will return everything
back to the living cell renewal and the science
fiction monstrosity no larger than a television.
Still never safe mind you. But exciting? Fools
for that drama even if at all points but alone,
as it was, as equal to everything else, as carbon
and only one of the elements in the neighborhood,
named after a thick creek swelling and drying
with the regurgitation of the passing presence. Its
there, in this, that are stored experiences we build
power generators, though the stockpile never more
an ungraspable slight of the sum of infinite division
along the parallel blade on the stainless steel knife,
from which thrills are shadowed upon the walls,
ending as quick as after the joke told, punch line
finished, and back to the eqipose. And so we're home,
in hand with another book or a video store rental.