We fell down on the job

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"