Hot fog and noir with feet of snow
carving the path and the passengers
from the elevated vantage, uh, voltage
play scatter pastures at shovel in the alley

Lilith, I say, I’m gonna call you Mary
of the patient brown eyes: uh, time
might makes you higher than the road
or snow, cleared’s now, shovel

In the alley your eyelashes shatter pace
sauced-up gummy in vicious drawl
until my toes numb, my moustache aches,
living together above the enlightened village.

Um. Your first volley was lucious. Your form
had rambled on. Would any city be as smart?