She spoke to me of fallen angels
How far can you fall?
I made no audible response
What about us? she asked,
Well, we've fallen too
A sum of us were left
to clean up the mess
our minds littered with ambiguity
the dust of charcoal
We stood on the corner, empty
streets paved, broken
in every direction,
here seemed like it never was,
no signs of life,
or death,
for that matter
A bus stopped
The night, a clammy thing,
dark dew formed on chartreuse grass,
overhead, a single light, pale
a single face, blue,
tongue, blue
lips blue, looked out
and down upon us,
the glass, pitiless
No one flinched
No one bickered
No one snickered
The small cast had been primed,
the solution obvious,
the occasion, unfortunate
footings were obviously weak
entropy?
obviously
It was a kind of refusal,
a slap to the face,
this rearrangement of perspective
despite all this,
it would be fallacious to assume,
we had any clear cut answers
A roar, a belch; the smoke,
departing for places, unknown
death by diesel, death by diesel, as if that explained
the grime of existence that clung to the back window
smeared,
in the grimy grease,
"destination, devastation"
