skyscraped skyline  quarterwhite
in morning light mourning
       the ritual passing of the night,
the city by dreams wound wakes mechanical-like,
preprogrammed as the rising of the sun,
celestially powered
cars trains buses, everyone—
gears turning—
scurry scurry to gets things done.

The window is a mirror,
I am the pregnant charcoal sky,
Gazing out I see within,
Through the self- and self-reflexive lie,
That I am I am I,
Drops away, cool and clear and as winter near,
The truth precipitates,
The year's first snow accumulates,
Tossed by winds across the sky, vast and open as my mind,
In which is I,
In which is I forever going blind.

The acceleration tastes of battered citrus,
The speed, of neon wine,
The rain writes dashes horizontal,
Across the landscape of the coastline,
The car-machine we're in's within us,
Both it and we: in time,
Entropy will soon make landfall,
And speeding speeding we shall die.

What ugly brilliance burns within the face,
Of the man who switched his head for the Sun,
The Earth, in orbit round his skull in space,
Becomes a Hell: his heat—melting everyone.

Wild ducks swim the flooded streets,
Dead men float face down,
What do the living eat,
When civilizations drown.

The wind carries winter upon its ice edge,
Daylight is cut, the minutes fall away,
Summer surpasses a mountain ledge,
Breathing in tomorrow, exhaling today.

The summer lingers in days unending,
The past's seen dimly through a pool of time,
Warmth falls away like bodies descending,
The sun's extinguished by the horizon line.