the cars spring like pinballs
up ramps to bounce between parkway lanes
searching, surging, scarlet blood vessels
circulating the city's intersecting veins

the horizon awaits to catch the sun's fall
the reaper wrote but never came
in the lullaby of the banshee's call
i thought i heard my name

the butterfly's wings are weighed with dust
its three summer days disappeared with the dusk
these sheets offer evidence of an evening's lust
but the pillowcases are

cold
kempt
untouched