2001
2001My pincers—glass wires with spectral tendons—
reach out through shards and planes
of snake skin colored diamonds temporally suspended
like heavy cables strung between the shoulders of indifferent skyscrapers
vibrating to Philip Petite's audacious walk; one small gull overhead
flying in ever tightening circles.
I interpose my lobster claws between bodies and burning air
catching soot-damaged stockbrokers by their shirt tails
above curtains of debris—paper, drywall, steel rods, liquefied pulp.
Unidentifiable packages fall in abbreviated farewells;
sacks of broken coconuts pummeled shamelessly
and collapsed into scattered shipwrecks
at the sea-bottom of Greenwich street
by tides of smoldering flotsam.
Enough firemen lost by mid-morning
to spread evenly across the entire year
like tiny dust motes of grated cheese.
The smoke so thick at the point
of final impact that it took
weeks to clear.
JZRothstein final edit 10/30/2014
Poetry by Jeffrey Z Rothstein
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Written on 2015-02-24 at 19:39
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