Treadmill Express

The-down-escalator-London-006Treadmill Express

Morpheus, healer, hold me fast,
Perpetuate your sea of night,
For tides of dawn a-cull with might
To strafe me back to shores of light.
Yet purged I’m torn from slumber’s arms,
From balms of soothing bliss I’m wrenched,
My wounds unhealed my thirst unquenched,
In verity’s cold grip I’m clenched;
And stark emerged from surf of sleep
To climb once more the cliff of day,
Through dawn’s chill-mist I make my way
To join the masses in the fray;
And make again that steep descent
Into suburbia’s heaving numbles,
Where Miller’s dirge relentless rumbles
E’er the subway stairway trundles
Down to that tube. Beneath the earth,
From platform packed to dire excess,
I step into the swelling press,
The seven-oh-five—Treadmill Express.

Aurora

 

Doña Aurora

Doña Aurora

Aurora

The scent of Eos lingers in her wake,
A rare Shiraz—uncorked, releasing tones
Of aniseed and cinnamon; bouquet
Whose redolence drifts down the alleyways
And blends acerbic-sweet with notes of coffee and cacao
That percolate through slats in unglazed windows;
Infusions.
The sun’s oblique and penetrating rays
Defy the lofty, jealous fronds, and squeeze
Between the crowded planet’s oak and concrete bastions,
To poke through breeze-block slots
And highlight cracks in flaky-pastry walls;
Diffusions.
Aurora, time-derided, eroded, cracked,
Heart pitted like the hands that wield the broom,
Downtrodden like the object of her enterprise,
Plays out the litany of morning ritual
And, smiling, sweeps again the crumbling path;
Wherein she sees beyond each bristle’s stroke
A cloud of musty memories exhumed
To briefly spritz, and fall in motes of dreams
Long dead, and now reburied in the dust.
Oblations.
But clouds will gather in the afternoon,
Convective gusts will dissipate stale spice
And August rains will flood the rutted ground
To sanitize with petrichor anew;
And all shall lie in readiness for tomorrow’s
Infusions, diffusions, oblations and sorrows
Ablutions.