Conducting her self-made orchestra
Improvised instruments among a scavenged heap
Beauty in insignificance

The star above
Visibily intentional, intentionally visible
Blink along to the tapped-out melody

The conductor's lights
Call attention to her swaying hand
Directing the chorus through her urban escape

The silence returns
The conductor leaves

The instruments return to life
Without an audience

Oh to be a little lizard
Sound asleep in a dish

Lady Karma has a big black dog

I am forced to write my neighbors about the beast.

Along the road, blinking lights flicker in and out of existence. From a distance they watch me, hundreds of little lights flickering at once. Through the trees they peer, never fully blocked by the flat terrain. The towers they sit upon guarantees they will be seen. For miles they stretch on in some vain attempt at uniformity. Their periodic apearance breaks through the dark of night in a steady mantra of "I am here. I am inescapable." Looking at them for an extended period of time while in a moving car grants the illision that the lights are slowly but steadily moving. Not towards or away from me, but moving nonetheless. I am unsettled, and yet I cannot look away.

An empty skeleton, surrounded
By the dust of ancient paths
Considers its history
Beneath the time-shifting sands