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.