Sine wave knuckles working the
cab interior of an elevator, thunderous
blows story-ing up, down.
Cramming all those voices in a voice box,
a moral imperative to release them.
Exorcising a city riding a dungeonesque
shaft, all those broken by bread, crawl
my lungs as if trying to pry open a chasm.
No feet to my name, animal space for an angel's
consideration.
Thoughts like bypassed gut-checks of rats
crossing a third rail, vivid as Buddhist visualization...
modicum of composure, the elevator doors open.
People press in, as if finalizing the final frontier.