Let it Come Down

Let it all come down now because the sky has
turned brown over the sun. There is
nothing so lonesome as the sound of iron
dust from a train colliding with your idea of a home.
All you ever really wanted was a way out of hell.
In all these years not a meadow or feature
unmarred by the future tumbling in so fat
and furry that the neighbors lock their doors.
When you approach a taxi, it lifts into the air.
Now what you need is a better root, something
you can sink your weak teeth into,
something fleshy and determined, or something
surrounded by oak and vetiver, if you wish.
I'm not here anymore than you are there.
Walking the sidewalk from Henry to Smith
while gravitating toward doom which has
eclipsed the day more or less making you
secure with insecurity. I wish you could be fatigued
and charming at the same time.
I don't know what to say, so I'm saying it.