one
more early Detroit
awakens
to don a new brand of facemask,
a
mixture of lake-effect mist, exhausted
automotive
motives obscuring remains of
weavers
speed over interstates in
convulsive
compulsion toward forward
all
the while still clinging, back-glancing
at
10,000 structures blown-out like lace
abandoned,
buried in brush since ’67
marathon
of refineries pumping and bridging
zugg
island stacks ablaze with futures
those
fortunes in the air of progressive cloaks
corrupted,
official false starts in the state
of
mind, both membrane and mentor
on
the daily drive we whizz by the line-up of
cinderblock
graffiti canvasses, flaking, wheezing
bags
sleeping, stuffed in corrugated boxes and
huddled
beneath overpasses to Yiserman’s
edifice
downtown, edged with maples
aflutter
with red-wing blackbirds
the
forearm and fist of Joe Lewis floats like
a
riverlaker’s leisurely glide under grey bog and
sulphor-infused
breezes on spreads of epoxy
E.RUKEYSER JOHNSON
JULY 2013
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