big town blues (xv) — contrails

a land
     of bright
          sky swings

the ropes may be contrails
     nothing more
          that frozen adventures

falling out the back of
     disappointed
          holidaymakers

but the seats are
     hard and solid
          dedicated myth

the kind
     that kill
          by inattention

i walk across them everyday
     ice on a black bridge
          three stories up

ancient front