[01/04/11]

Through cloudy portholes
three miles high, a whisper:
What life lies beneath
the rolling folds of nimbus?

I glimpse a city
by the sea; spark'ling waters
yield to whittled steel,
each light a shining beacon
of prosperity.

Night comes; I glimpse another
rather like the first
but larger; Buxom and brash,
she roils in sequin'd
highways, clad in gold,
the spill from streetlamps clamors
for a taste. And yet
some highways shuttle slowly,
shifting shadows 'neath
the lamplight's golden fountains.

Hungry, ties and suits
meander down this city's
streets; her highways full,
bored by now by their being.
On and off they go;
exit ramps are silly straws
siphoning slowly homeward.