Expressways
He knew the way to the bridge
in the thinning marrow of his bones.
A steel span jointing
a confluence of human effort.
Don’t
look down.
Just listen to the concrete creating
songs where the friction
of air/rubber/asphalt vibrate
blood vessels and howl—
A newmetal ecotone
for failing flesh.
3 thoughts on "Expressways"
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“He knew the way to the bridge/in the thinning marrow of his bones.” – that is magical
for me, your poem breaks the wall with the homeless as “other”
don’t look…feel