Kitty Goes Kommando and the Goldman Rats — Phooey!
That blue scaffolding holds up the sky. Who did we think
we were padlocking in, or out? Give me that huge
looping black script no one can read, a secret glyph,
and just where someone has smashed the window, Jesus
the Way the Truth the Life and a dented aluminum frame.
He bent down, we know, and wrote something illegible on the ground.
A toothy black-and-white dinosaur gapes. I like the crack
in this wall of monsters where skylines topple and ogres
twiddle train tracks in their claws like pipe cleaners.
Down the long, semi-abandoned street in Queens
calligraphy gallops toward the shop displaying,
like guitar strings, seven different iron rods
for gates. Hole in the wall, rose sound-hole,
ribbed sounding board — always from fissures and gaps
melody strains as trains thunderclank across
the girdered overpass, a siren keens, and a solitary man
ambles past amputated acacias fisting out with leaves.