i set my hand
on the rough surface
of the parking lot
feeling microtremors
in the city’s pulse
seems as if every
road is congested
backing up the means
of commerce in lines
where pollutants belch
from man-made machines
to blot the feeble
wisps of golden light

we could demolish
all these monuments
to the avarice of
semiautonomous godlings
burrow beneath the
toxic soil to build
a labyrinth dedicated
to the frantic need
for more and more and more
while letting nature
reclaim the wasted
materials scraping the
orange tinted heavens
long emptied of divinity

no mass transit in this
land of oversized trucks
conpensating for a lack
of manly disingenuities
just row after row of
angry faces weaving in
between the packed lanes
watching as the driver of a
red truck furiously revs
sending clouds of soot
in a display of flaccid rage
we are all going nowhere
some of us are just calmly
accepting of the meaninglessness