locomotion
from here, on my desk,
i could hear the grind of
metal against metal
like a miserable symphony
somewhere, the bass player
take the keys to his car
and as he lay listening to metal riffs
he burns his rubber on asphalt
and as the hundred elevators
wound tight to their cables
only to leave the polluted earth
to a heavily invented heaven
unable to realize that all of us
are only blood corpuscles
of a heartless, motionless beast
stealing the sound of your whisper