Fire and mortar
Dust to dust
The sky stained red
From ashes and rust
The flames reach new heights.
They lick the sky,
Burning new trenches.
I wish I could say why.

I found a flock of cranes
clustered in a gravel lot;
they were silent, still,
their grays and reds paint
matte the landscape
behind the jaundice
yellow of the workers
lounging out their lunch;

one fellow, never caught
his name, waved me over
like I’d seen mafia dons
do on TV;
       Where you boys headed?
His voice, rumbles of the diesel
engine of his machinery starting
on icy mornings;
       Hell, it doesn’t matter.
              You’ll be busy all the same.
Lunch on me today, son.

two bills he pushed into my hands,
crumpled and pocket damp,
and slapped my *** in dismissal;
the laughter of the men
shuddered off the steel shells
of those mechanical birds

Man spends most his time
fuelling furnace of progress
--  by fighting fires.

and this is how i pick my bones apart.
every layer of skin begins to burn,
there's a bad taste on my tongue from choking back on your name.
i hear the tones drop in my chest, fully involved with my anger inside.

and i wish that roof collapsed.
when does the smoke clear up from the flashover we caused?
there's a tombstone above my bed commending you for killing what was left in me.
no light, no light, and you were trained to move without your vision.

there goes the flag, my final call.
to the monster you were, and he slayed, see you at the big one.