31 stories up

the view from
the thirty first floor
of a city draped
in morning fog
a fugue framing
the chaos in
fuzzy forms of
concrete diffusion
as the sun glares
angry and red faced
through the metal
frame of the crane
suspended at the
top of the half
constructed skyscraper

i am at once
stymied by
the industrious
beauty spread
out before me
once fertile fields
along the west fork
of the trinity
now a serpentine
symbol scrawled
in convoluted
scars dug deeply
into the flesh
of the earth
and the
in these semi
permanent edifices
to man’s inability
to leave well
enough alone

the balance is lost
between humanity
and the wilderness
a deep seated need
for control choking
the equilibrium of
millennia untold
as we stubbornly
refuse to let go of
the tightening grip
on mother nature’s
delicate little throat

but the view from
the thirty first floor
of a baleful globe
in a crimson fury
burning away the mist
sheltering the city
spread out in concrete
sigils across the land
is surely breathtaking
or perhaps that is
the red pollution alert


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