I reach like a mechanical baby
in the insanity of reason,
stitched into time
by the fangs of these humans,
drawn to the sky by a bolt,
my cranium a chimney
for all that has been hurt here,
tired of stalking signs, and missing
directions, tired of the silk
of mammal words.

Tongue bandit on a steel girder
falling with lunch through the grand scaffold
last cigarette in hand, last posture
for the talkative strangers,
face distorted in the skunk's tallest bathroom,
torn smile of earth
and the miseries of desks relieved
by a cinematic tide.