the a-no-ing-thing

go! stay where the grey walls crumble

go, without looking back to view the struggling-steel

and watch the shocked ones churn, smothering their face

new foundations are rising on the soap in the tub

holding its theme like billboards fighting for glue

stitching seams as machines watch the tumbling poles

the letter-writers' words fly toward some gigantic day

absent as they crawl along the white concrete wall

chewing at their knees that leave decorative blood behind

the silent faces of shame mock the burgeoning crowd

waiting for some hero to enter and free them from the smog

engulfing those laying their hopes on some blob: the a-no-ing-thing