The Powers

“The birds have freed the stop signs.”
—Robert Rauschenberg

tip, hip brushes
waist, wrist,
elbow nudges chest,
buttocks for sale
in the plaza de mistrance

where even the fountains spit blood

where locos
once danced
now plan
in place
in stead

where towers tell
the town and the earth
opens yawning with its
thick silence,
somnolence

a dumpsterful of
rubble, red
rust, dust, detritus
sticky in his mouth
and, more, his eyes

snarling at the powers