Shadow-cast, dust-coated, fog all over cranes
& concrete eyes. A skyline big money made.
Everyone’s meaner than me in here, smile
when they say a knife. Another hour I feel
like nothing in a high-rise ceiling, dust-
coated twilight. Throw out bubble-wrap, gather
gray wires to splice. Fog city, rectangles scale
into a big-money sky. Matt tells everybody
he can’t find his pliers. High rise like nothing
I feel, listless bubble-wrap how many times
an hour, I feel like shadows, now we hear
how he found them. Meaner, into a big-money
sky, shadows cast. Windows streaked. Cranes
& rectangles. Gray wires all over fog.