a noon sun hangs over a metal pole spider web reaching to the sky

oppositional symmetry, two fists holding

phone wires heading east and west

encrusted in white excrement

a cobweb of conversation

all the perched birds

can’t feel surging

through a wire

under their feet

an incessant

traffic of loud words

lovers separated

by seven states

words like arrowheads shoved

through these lines of longitude

finally jamming up

at this weathered tower

a middle-aged column

of collision

covered in neon graffiti

perched on top of weak rocks

overlooking an eroded valley

and a four-lane highway

with heavy traffic gradually

slowing down as

eastern shadows trickle

from the tower’s base

a cooler night air blows hard

 the old metal pipes whistle

a new traffic of lighter voices

growing louder with a band of crickets