to sniff the edges of books

in the hidden corners of libraries

where smells are more evident.

Then walk outside into the evening air

like a childhood game

and see the city-light-refinery sky

with my own two eyes

through telephone poles and godless spires.

Something not done often...

really see the city-refined lights,

how they hypnotize.

They take no country lip,

just suck your eyes.

And in the distance, a great crater

with much sad laughter and gnashing of teeth.

A calamitous loss waiting for things to slow down a bit.

I can hear it just slightly above the scrannel

of image-noise-nothings

when her breath is beside me

and the T.V. is off.

It stares back into me,

then I turn the corner down my block

and hope like hell she's home