October : Buildings near the Highway Have Some of their Lights Left On By John Doyle

Sunken through its face

this concrete skeleton's teeth makes light

pick out exaggerated cars on its skinny highway,

swallowing souls whose birthdays pack today like a sardine tin

controlled by so many wheels I wonder where they could possibly go

to escape the judgements of the bone-tinted light,

appearing from the mouths of buildings,

and the skull-shaped concrete

perched behind broccoli trees

wobbling a worried wind that tries to wobble broccoli trees back

and everyone assumes 

it's a language of vision and silence that poems magically fall from

Half man, half creature of very odd habi. t, John Doyle dabbles in poetry when other forms of alchemy and whatnot just don't meet his creative needs. From County Kildare in Ireland, he is (let's just politely say) closer to 50 than 21.