Pavement Gospel

Everything is on fire. That's the point.

---

the sun breaks like a cheap bottle
against the morning,
spilling gold all over the fucking pavement
while another beautiful day
doesn't give a shit
about your plans...

kids run wild as angels on fire,
their screams cutting
through the dead air,
and you wait for it to mean anything at all.

there's magic in the gutter anyway,
light crawling through broken glass,
a bird singing until
the whole street stops
and listens without knowing why...
caught, for a second,
in something clean.

then skin touches skin
and the world explodes…
not with bombs
but with primordial pale venom
cackling at death and taxes,
at all the hours
we hand over without a fight...
our veins decide,
no apology, no permission.

grass doesn't apologize
for being green,
wind doesn't ask
to move through your hair
like a lover's fingers,
and somewhere a kettle screams
its metallic prayer
to whatever gods
still remember how to dance.

this is it…
the moment when everything
stops pretending to be civilized,
when breath becomes rebellion
and heartbeat becomes hymn,
when the whole damn universe
strips naked
rutting
into the storm.


-UpsilonA