Hold Up

Back of the orange sea of night
something is happening.
someone waits
in an alley for dawn,
but we both know
(don’t we, shadow man?)
waiting is a disease.
the asphalt is strong
and has had its peak,
the pieces are racing,
screaming through the streets
in the middle of the night,
they are just playing
god and sundry others.
“Where the hell were you?”
wild trees down by the railroad track
want to know as trains come running
down the darkness
shaking their bodies up,
running them through
all different kinds of ways,
one after combustible another.
and then all these things
fall asleep to hide
from the horrible
sun and find
small corners
that will take them
in, that will
have them.

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