coastline on a stopwatch

bodies are beginning to tumble
dynasties crumble , burnt jade
and cinnabar. bees lost in sunspots
bereft of the hive, the sweet spot
where they fall, heavy with pollen
into the hum, a scrambled memory, so heavy
this descent from the sky.

the executive moves in waves through the outer
cubicles, through all
the people he must execute
in dissonant form across his his mirrored sunglasses.
shelly whispers to judy "uh oh. that doesn't look right".


evening has fallen. pink slips are in the mail, color of watery
blood, after the cut is rinsed and dressed, color of the dress
her baby girl wears in the small
3x5 day care pic skinny & bound
to get thinner. the boss is leaving
the building, the elevator
bells politely bings.



*(*








the man stands beside the tracks
where the trains come through;
packages of humans, always hurtling,
missiles of commerce.

he is thinking of red lines
only shades of red, like rust
co opted for rail, the slope
of a ticker tape, line on a chart.
the direction of down.

when he was young his family
business thrived. rich was his life.
now he's old and has seen the bloom
fade, the dissipation of skin

in his daughters' faces. the things money
can't buy are no longer appealing.
a small child's shadow beckons to him,
thin and bound to get thinner. she is

dressed in pink. he follows.
the train is leaving
none of him behind