by Charles Farrell Thielman
The Pulse Of Arterials
Urban pistons rush orders, the overcast
on inbound windshields, pools on my
studio floors. How to bevel pain into art
my long handled brush carries swan wings
reflected on curve ice, window cracked open
I cursor a jazz anthem loud after five day-shifts
of Muzak lulled over my sweated shoulders
The birds spill off branches, one long freight train
boxcars squeal and clang along the seams of rains
The province of neon stripes each transit
within geometries of sounds, see the light change
on initials carved on a flat-bed’s tall harvest
Nothing silhouetted by sun through waves
This day of storm undertows siphons faith
arterials brushed dark gray, dark gray