Something Revealed on the Street

The only problem with your picture of Armageddon
is the shopping cart not returned to the stall.

The lack of perfect chrome inventory will panic Danny.

Today the pattern was maniacs in courtesy cars
barking an advert in pristine white changing lanes.

Tomorrow it will be another.

Put a number on a humid day and it's still only now.

It will always be now.

Watch the passive grey ghost with the plaid hat
sitting on the ledge of Episcopalian trophy steps,
blind to the godly rhythm of dancing children.

She is somewhere else.

Do the rockabilly swim in Hawaiian shirts
and purple painted accouterments beside
a cream and washed out brick Delta 88
with a cool breeze option that's inscrutable.

The only sorrow?

Being unable to justify saying:

And I helped.

Empire of Dirt

The snail moves so quickly through the sky
that the fallen crumbs seem almost brown
but look again and it's only six point flakes
that do not softly drop but waft in icy silence.