by Josh Dale
You can’t hear the whine of a subway car
when you’re affixed to the spalling concrete column
in front of you.
You can’t inhale smog and rust
with the wind to your back.
Mankind works perpendicular to nature
and veers away from the divine.
We live in the spheres of God
and snuff the Phoenix
when we extinguish the cigarette.
Forcing to mandate the real,
the caterpillar’s transformation is notlonger
Very closely, you shall go;
ear to the grass,
hear his whistle,
inverting sky to your eager eyes.
Run, run on the blade you craft!
But don’t suffer all that much.
The next train arrives in five.
Josh Dale holds a BA in English from Temple University and has been previously published in 48th Street Press, Black Elephant Literary Magazine, SickLit, Your One Phone Call, and others. You may find him acquiring paper cuts at his small press, Thirty West Publishing House, founded in November 2015. He is also a proud cat dad to his fur baby,
Daisy, a rescue Bengal.