Suburban Skyscapes

This morning the yawning sky was witnessed,
a puddle of orange juice seeping upward
into the fabric of frigid black night,
through a dirt-seamed windshield.

11 am's dusty blue sky is blind
to the building slicing
Glory with a rust red razor edge,
to the puncture
of a cell phone tower,
radiating the scene.

Our smoldering star ticks
off celestial bliss,
with a long low sigh
that steams each window sill
and fries the laundry hanging to dry.

Tonight the crooning sky will be haled--
a Hallelujah chorus of lights
hung on a deep blue scale --
through the crooked bars of plastic blinds.

1 comment:

Crystal said...

Our smoldering star ticks
off celestial bliss

ticks like a clock!...I think it's especially neat because the sun is basically our clock but it certainly ticks me off when the day is almost over. great poem dude.