black winged and blue
listen to the sound of freight
trains on circle street and east
main as the lake effect sets in,
then try to tell me again
that nothing matters.
just feel the heavy r and b
beat from an idling car
as the sun scratches through
and the cold air hits
your lungs erupting each nerve
and tell me there is not beauty
in this confusion or a dance
in the aftermath.
this is more than politics
or collecting the names
of missing persons
on a half-stoned sunday waiting
to find a reason to go outside.
this isn’t another dead friend
that died fixing up his boat
or the man killed in the hit
and run down on monroe
this last thursday.
i know, i watched the paramedics
pull him up,
while the cops closed off the street.
this isn’t the woman telling me
her dvds are late
because she got shot five times
down on genesee street three weeks back.
this is life and we are fated
to live through it.
we are the winter crows bound
to the branches looking out
over this city.
we are shadows stuck against the sky,
wings stretched in the air of disorder,
patient and waiting on the inevitable thaw.