Rail overhanging

muddies the skyline on once bright high streets, oil dripping
between girders makes for hazardous ground, slips pose a risk
but there is a beauty in thunderclaps

passengers stepping back, on, off, forth, through windows, evaporating
around fly-filled lights between careworn
stations, i am carried in bags
and backpacks like pollen by twilight

iron twists into high steps and brownstone piers, plaits cast
like altars against my weight as i tell glass rosary, skin on my fingers rough
and curling like paint-inflicted remains

avenues become boulevards drenched in rust, shadows over sunfields
speak to quiet howling hearts and pilot flames, crows on chattering tracktops
where power lines wheeze with abandon

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