Charms composed of gentle spirits
Have evanesced into thin, hot air;
And in their place a ponderous wave
Of warm sighs and the hiss of sizzling
Flesh. The unruly sun has stopped,
Midway through its daily journey.
And the compound fumes of hisses
and sighs are choking the air —
Monstrous solidification.
Big balls of sweat, like melons of brine
Roll down mistempered backs.
Gridlock.
The word brings a distaste —
Small wheeled boxes packed into
A thin road, and thunderous hisses
Eclipsing vivid dreams.
There is no end to it.
Stretching out as far as the eye can see —
Gridlock.
Foreheads with creases,
Thin ragged lips belch the noise
Of bothersome snatches
In bothered minds.
The uneasy feeling matches to
A crescendo, a ragged band of
Uncouth soldier ants, thundering
Through the drained crowd,
As the air sucks out the last of
The effervescence and nothing but
Hollow boughs remain, trapped in
The horrid nightmare.
It goes, on and on, twisting like a
Mishapen rope as it ascends
Into the grey cloudless sky.
