OVERPASS

you can’t figure out living
can’t figure out how
to write a poem
if you can’t
write it standing
coughing up the dust

of the market coughing
up the living : the freeway
coughs the way
of being free enough
to pry the market
from the lungs

its mouth a manifesto
at each off-ramp
wishing it was living
wishing it was true
we could learn
to pry our breath
from the uncountable
decimal places : the way
exhaust exhausts us

it could be enough
a slowly moving
enough : hologram
of wishing : a pulse
levitating above uncountable
traffic to listen to
the overpass itself

the market so dry :
uncountable : a tributary
of moving decimals
underground : still
the communal presses
its way at us and we
can almost hear

the future nothing
where envy goes the way
of after : a poem

the sunlight made
for the end of traffic
moving fast and back
to flesh : a pulse