in The Meeting Brownlee Anthology
Is there a dome sky that stretches all around your spinning,
Earth circle frame and neon orange pink horizon, nighttime
At odds with a million insects swarms,
And the constellations form?
Sounds like icy fine heaven.
I know a boxed sky.
Buildings with rippled abdomens overpowering.
Most of the day they strongarm sunlight, in a violent violet
Redirect off their metal mirrored muscle struts.
Thinking, "No sun today."
But, gracing just right, the sun
Among money's cathedrals.
The sky takes on that bang blue hue,
You only find in prospectus filtered photos.
Looking up past the offices of powerbrokers,
You see this austere square horizon,
And it's this glowering towered sky
That's the loneliest thing next to a heartbeat.